


Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road

by Ephemeral_Joy



Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Angst, Birthday Party, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Confessions, Diary/Journal, F/M, Friendship/Love, Hugs, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Love Letters, Post-Canon, School, Shirbert, ignore s2, will add on characters with every chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 08:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13899978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ephemeral_Joy/pseuds/Ephemeral_Joy
Summary: Gilbert had wanted to see the world. To find himself.But instead, he dreamt of rich apple orchards, school desks and bright blue eyes.He didn’t like being alone anymore.In which Gilbert Blythe goes back home (with some tribulations).





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> To premise the story:  
> \- Title is from "Song of the Open Road", by Walt Whitman, which is also used in Anne with an E  
> \- This is a multi-fic, so get ready for that!  
> \- You will notice that the first few chapters will be lacking in dialogue. This was a stylistic decision I made.  
> \- Gritty scenes will occur.  
> \- This ain't fluff guys. If you read my stydia fics, you know i can also make the waterworks flow
> 
> I'd like to thank my bae Alexis aka @shirbertss on Tumblr, or @theystayalive on ao3 for screaming with me and inspiring me!  
> READ HER NEWEST FIC BTW ITS GORGEOUS  
> Also thank you dad for not minding my antisocial ass when I was writing on our roadtrip. You're a trooper.

Gilbert Blythe stared at himself in the mirror, something he started doing recently. Not because of narcissistic tendencies (there was no time for vain around here) but because every day, he felt something change. Like how the dark circle under his right eye is darker than his left one. Or how one day, freckles suddenly existed on his chin too. It began when he passed a miscellaneous mirror in the house of a landlord a few months ago, and he realised he couldn’t fit in the frame anymore, whilst he was usually perfectly capable of doing that.  
He had grown, and he didn’t know what to think of It.  
Did that mean the people back in Avonlea were changing too? He supposed they did.  
His current home was in Galway, Ireland, a quaint little town with large docks that needed the help of men for the heavy lifting of foods. Grains, spices, herbs, vegetables. He swore he once heard a human muffling in one of the large wooden crates too, but when he told Sebastian that, he was told to keep his mouth shut and move on. Considering Sebastian was older, Gilbert obliged.

Sebastian was interesting. It was the second black man Gilbert had seen in his life. The first in Alberta with his dad nearly a year ago. Gilbert averted his eyes from the mirror. It was too painful to see himself tear up. He quietly descended the stairs.

He didn’t know a lot about Sebastian. He did know Sebastian had been doing this for a while, as people from Galway had greeted him with a glint of recognition in their eyes. He was old, but not balding. His skin was etched with deep rooted wrinkles. His finger nails were never clean. Neither were Gilbert’s nowadays.  
Sebastian could read, even though he’d never gone to school. Gilbert once caught him picking a newspaper from a vacant table and shoving it in his ratted vest. When they were on break, Sebastian had asked him what “abundant” meant, pointing at the word in the paper. He had explained it, and Sebastian continued reading. Gilbert wanted to know how he wasn’t illiterate, but he didn’t want to pry.

Near the front door laid a piece of cloth with a few slices of freshly baked bread and two apples. The people who ran this place were kind enough to make him a little package every morning, as he left when the birds woke up. It was too early for proper breakfast. He took a bite out of one apple and pocketed the rest in his satchel.

Gilbert shut the front door, breathing in the salty air. His shoulders sagged. Another day.  
He must admit he quite romanticised the idea of “seeing the world” all on his own. He expected tribulations along the way, but he had hoped that by now he had escaped the marine lifestyle, backpacking through the mainland of Europe.  
Alas, here he was.

‘Good morning Sebastian,’ Gilbert said routinely, plopping his satchel on the ground.

‘Morning Gilbert,’ he grumbled, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. Apparently, Sebastian always had a cold. (“Don’t have the money for medicine, kid. I don’t believe in that crap anyway.”)  
‘How are you?’  
‘Same as yesterday, kid,’ he replied, not unfriendly. Gilbert nodded, and began working before he got reprimanded by his boss.

They worked in silence, in sync with one another. Sebastian got appointed to Gilbert when he first began working at the docks, and after realising how well it clicked – Gilbert doing the heavy work, whilst Sebastian made sure everything went smooth and quick – they kept being each other partner. It was easier that way. Gilbert wouldn’t tell anyone, but he secretly saw Sebastian as a father figure. No one would ever replace his father, of course, but the guidance of Sebastian felt comforting. Safe. 

He dragged a particularly heavy sack across the wooden floor of the ship when he saw someone accidentally kicking his satchel. Gilbert sighed. Half these men were blind, he swore. Sebastian murmured something nonsensical (He actually did know what Sebastian said, but he’d never dare to say it out loud.) and placed the bag upright. His journal fell out.

Sebastian smirked, ‘Diary?’  
‘It’s a journal,’ Gilbert said, feeling his pulse quicken as Sebastian picked it up. It wasn’t _just_ a journal. ‘About this trip.’

‘So you won’t forget anything when you tell this story to your grandkids?’, he laughed, showcasing his yellow teeth. Gilbert involuntarily grimaced.  
Before Sebastian could finger through it, Gilbert slapped it out of his hands, stuffing it back in the bag. Sebastian stared at him incredulously. He was never violent.

The old man peered at him, ‘You’re not writing erotica, are you?’  
Gilbert turned beet red, ‘Of course not!’  
‘You never know kid,’ patting his shoulder, ‘boys like you these days.’

Gilbert thought of Billy, and how he was once boasting about how he had his first wet dream whilst fantasising of Diana Barry. He made a face.

‘What?’

‘Nothing. I just know one of those boys.’

Sebastian grunted. ‘Better avoid them. They’re never up to no good. Is it a boy from Av… Ave…,’

‘Avonlea,’ Gilbert helped. He went back to the crates on the ship and the man followed.

‘Right. Is it a boy from there?’

‘Yeah. Billy Andrews, an asshole with a superiority complex,’ Gilbert grunted the latter as he hugged a rack of rice.  
Sebastian ticked something off a list, ‘Superi-?’  
‘Meaning he feels better than everyone else.’  
‘Oh,’ he wiped his nose with the back of his hand, ‘knew a guy like that too.’  
‘And?’  
‘He died alone,’ Sebastian grinned menacingly. Gilbert’s mouth quirked up. Billy ending up alone… he’d like that.

‘No time for daydreaming, kid! That grain isn’t gonna lift itself on its own!’

*

_Dear Anne,_

_You’d love Ireland._

 

Anne was on his mind quite a lot. If he had a hundred thoughts a day, she’d claim ninety-nine of them. Someone just had to quote Whitman or Cummings or her big blue eyes were dancing in his conscious.  
God, her eyes. He loved staring into those.  
Months ago, he did, one last time in a modern coffee shop with her sitting opposite of him. She’d stared back with intensity that made him swallow hard and look away. Perhaps it was foolish, but he felt that if he had stared any longer, he’d be trapped by her.

And he wouldn’t mind.

Even more foolish was the fact that he fancied her. He found their relationship bittersweet. Like, _of course_ , he’d fall for the girl with otherworldly galaxies in her eyes.

 

_Dear Anne,_

_You’d love Ireland. Galway has quite the romantic scenery, straight out of the books you love to read._

_I don’t know how much longer I’ll be gone. A month, a decade, forever. My liking for you however, has not yet dissipated._

_I miss you. A lot._

_Gilbert_

*

Suddenly everything went fast.

He’d woken up, stared in the mirror, quietly went downstairs (missing the seventh step – it always creaked the most), took his breakfast and went to the docks.

In the drum of morning people he found Sebastian, walking faster to catch up with him. All was normal, routinely. He said good morning and asked how Sebastian was, and the man replied with the same answer.   

That was when it all changed.  
They turned the corner, and Gilbert came face to face with the back of a girl’s head, who was sporting two red braids.

No, he thought, it couldn’t be.  
His lips, however, thought otherwise.

‘Anne!’, he yelled into the mass. Anne didn’t turn around. Sebastian stared at him in confusion.  
‘Hey, Anne. Wait!’, he pushed people aside, all the while his brain was screaming him to _stop_. He had to _stop_ , he was making himself look mental,  it was _not_ her, she was at _home_ in _Avonlea_ being _courted_ by _other_ guys who didn’t _leave_ because their _fathers_ didn’t _die_.

His arm grasped the girl’s shoulder.  
‘Anne,’ he whispered.  
The first thing he saw was a big nose, followed by small, brown eyes and dimple-less cheeks. The world was mocking him, presenting him the exact opposite of how the loveable Anne looked.

The girl rose her eyebrows in surprise, quickly wiping his hand away.  
‘You have the wrong person,’ she said with a strong, Irish accent.    
‘Excuse me,’ he bowed his head in embarrassment, placing his hands behind his back and turning to Sebastian. He looked bewildered.

‘What was that?’, he asked. There was nothing accusatory in his tone, simply curiosity and slight concern.

‘Nothing,’ Gilbert breathed, trying to clear his head. _Anne Anne Anne Anne Anne Anne Anne Anne Anne Anne Anne Anne._

‘That was not nothing, kid. Who’s Anne?’

‘It’s no one,’ he quipped, pursing his lips whilst meeting his gaze. ‘I didn’t sleep well last night.’  
Sebastian didn’t believe him, he knew that, but he seemed to understand Gilbert was not in the mood to talk about it. Silently, they continued their way to the slimy docks. Sebastian sniffed, and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

‘Shouldn’t there be two boxes of grain?’, Gilbert asked, staring down at the clipboard. Whenever deliveries went wrong, _they_ always got the blame. As if they’d steal grain. They didn’t even have the equipment to make bread.  
‘Sebastian?’  
The man grunted. Gilbert turned around and paled significantly.  
Sebastian, the man who normally kept his nose out of personal business, was reading his journal. His letters to Anne. His thoughts. Gilbert flushed red. There were pages filled with questions about how Anne was being.

 _When I come back, I hope your soul is as vibrant as before I left. Still enough scope for the imagination, right?_  

Sebastian jutted his index finger on a page. ‘Anne,’ he read, looking up at Gilbert. ‘Is there a little lady waiting for you back in ah… Avonlea?’

Gilbert paused, pursing his lips. Was she waiting on him? She did say he had to come home someday. Did that mean she was waiting? He couldn’t imagine her doing that. Life was far too adventurous for her to wait on him.  
He'd rather not reply, but his mind was consumed by red hair adorned by daisies and twinkling blue eyes and big smiles and the faint scent of pine.

‘Yeah – I mean, no.’

The man furrowed his bushy brows, wrinkles intensifying. He seemed to be deep in thought. Gilbert grabbed a sack of grains.

Sebastian smirked, but a certain sadness was lingering. ‘I've been there boy. The special ones are always the most challenging, no?,’ he pushed an empty crate to the side, ‘I would be with my Jolene if I wasn’t so dumb to…,’ Sebastian sighed.  
Gilbert clenched his jaw, feeling guilty for accidentally stepping into sensitive territory. Sebastian suddenly didn’t seem like the tough guy Gilbert thought he was. He had loved once, perhaps still does.

‘What happened to her?’, they’d probably get scolded by their boss any moment, but he didn’t care.  
Sebastian handed the journal back to Gilbert.

The answer was simple. ‘She married someone else.’

The boy balled his hands. The thought of marrying Anne hadn’t crossed his mind before (He was fifteen!) but the idea of her being with someone else made him sick to the stomach. Sebastian didn’t meet his eye anymore. 

'If she's special to you,' the man said at the end of the night, as the sun was setting. 'don't let her slip through your fingers.'

*

Gilbert stared at himself in the mirror. One of the workers accidentally hit him with a sack of grains and a purple bruise was starting to form on his cheekbone. He grazed his fingers over the spot, hissing through closed teeth. God, that hurt.

He stared at himself in the mirror, dreadfully staring at the person who he was slowly slipping into. He has matured, but he also lost something. Perhaps it got lost when his father took his last gurgling breath, but he knew it laid in Avonlea.  
It was his spirit; he hated not having that bounce in his step anymore. He hated not being able to connect with someone. Sebastian was a good companion, but not a friend. He hated how his reflection stared back at him with vacant eyes.

Anne once made an offhand comment about how his green eyes were “magnificent”. It was somewhere between when they met and when it all went downhill, hushed and accidental and away from the judgemental eyes and gossipy lips from their classmates. But she found them magnificent. Gilbert angled his head, intensifying the dark shadows under his eyes. They weren’t so magnificent anymore.     

He was tired. He wanted to go home.

Gilbert had wanted to see France, Belgium, Germany, Spain, Turkey and India. To find himself. To see the world before he got old and grey and couldn’t move swiftly anymore. But instead, he dreamt of rich apple orchards, school desks and bright blue eyes.     

He didn’t like being alone anymore.

Gilbert tore his gaze away from the mirror, locking on his satchel.

‘Mister Blythe?’, the landlord yelled from downstairs, ‘Dinner’s ready.’

Gilbert looked over his shoulder at the door, pursing his lips. What was he going to do? Where there even boats leaving right now? Could he just pack and go? His stomach rumbled.  
He exhaled deeply, lowering his tense shoulders and relaxing his jaw. His fists unclenched.

For now, he’d follow the scent of baked potatoes, and he’d go from there.  


*

It was two AM when he knocked on the house where Sebastian was a tenant. After a few minutes, a sleepy, old man opened the door, slightly irritated. His belly protruded from his thin sleeping shirt.

‘What is it, child?’, his beady eyes flickered as he aggressively waved his candle around.

‘I’m here to see Sebastian.’

‘Sebastian _who_?’  
Gilbert suddenly realised he didn’t even know Sebastian’s last name.  
‘He’s the man who works at the docks every day. I’m his co-worker.’

The man sighed. ‘Come in. It’s the third door on the second floor.’

‘Thank you.’

His knuckles rapped the door. ‘Sebastian,’ he hissed. No sound.  
He tried again, a little louder. ‘Sebastian.’ A grumble. Gilbert smiled.  
Sebastian’s door flew open, bleary eyes widening surprised at the sight of Gilbert. They were bloodshot, he noticed.

‘Gilbert? What are you…? It’s bloody early!’

‘I came to say goodbye.’ Gilbert replied, calm expression on his face. He had thought this through.  
The man stared at him for a moment, letting him in.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I took your advice,’ Gilbert answered with a small smile on his face. He was going to miss Sebastian.  
‘I’m going back to Avonlea. I want to finish school and… be home again.’

The man squinted his eyes suspiciously, ‘What about the world?’

‘I still have time,’ he explained, ‘I also don’t… want to do it alone.’

Sebastian smirked, ‘Your girl needs to come with?’

Gilbert didn’t reply, simply unbuttoning his satchel and taking out a few books with leather bounding and golden detailing. He handed it to Sebastian.

‘I can’t read, kid.’  
‘I know you can read.’

Sebastian pursed his lips, gazing down at the books. “Oliver Twist” and “Song of The Open Road” was etched in the brown leather.  
‘Thank you.’  
Gilbert nodded, gave him one last smile and left the room. Although his heart sunk at the sudden turn he decided to take, the edges were starting to drum with excitement, slowly creeping to his core.

*

_Dear Anne,_

_I’m coming home._


	2. Chapter two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Gilbert starts his trip back to Avonlea, he hadn't anticipated to make a friend.   
> Even more, that everything would go to hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is. hehe.

There were a few things Gilbert hadn’t anticipated when boarding a ferry for two weeks.

One being that when you were poor, your cabin was shit. On his trip to Ireland, he had enough money for a family of six. But now, after seven months, the money had slimmed down to a meagre amount less then three numbers. He’d rather not think about it. He conspired his cabin wasn’t even a cabin, but a romanticised broom closet. It had a mattress, an inch in depth, thrown in the corner, a small bedside table, a clothing rack and a small bowl with water for him to wash his body with. A little blanket was meant to be used as a duvet.   

Second that he’d be boarding a ferry for two weeks. He thought it was one.

The long hours on the boat, though, left him with room to think freely, without work restrictions. His eyes leave the ocean, locking on the leather-bound paper.

_Anne, have you grown since I left? Do you still smile the way you do? Anne, do you sometimes think about me, or have I been erased from your memory?_

‘What are you writing in that little book of yours?’  
A posh British accent brought him out of his reverie. Gilbert looked up, meeting the face of a handsome man. He couldn’t be older than 25, with big, blonde curls and hooded green eyes. There was a significant scar on his chin.   
Gilbert snapped his journal shut, squeezing his lips into a tired smile. He didn’t sleep last night, the boat having sailed on unruly waters. He was quite sure his cabin wasn’t isolated, as water began building on his floor. Around 4 AM his room started smelling like piss too.   
The man in front of him seemed to be rich, hair groomed and eyes bright. He probably had a big suite with feathered pillows and marble sinks.   
Gilbert’s humble upbringing couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy.

‘Nothing,’ he replied, pointedly trying to forget how the redheaded beauty haunted his thoughts and evaded his pages like a virus he didn’t want to get rid of.   
‘Just observations.’   
The man nodded, mop of hair bopping up and down. Gilbert narrowed his eyes at the man as he sat down next to him. No one on the ship talked to each other amicably. What did this guy want from him?   
The man stretched his legs, dropping a novel and pack of cards on the ground.   
‘I’m James Richardson, but friends call me Jamie.’  
He wouldn’t call him Jamie.   
‘Gilbert,’ he said, taking James’ hand in his and shaking it.  
‘What brings you to Canada, Gilbert?’ James smirked, like how adults would ask a toddler what he wanted to be when they grew up. Gilbert couldn’t help but see a bit of Billy in this James.   
He answered nonetheless, ‘School. My home.’  
James rose his eyebrows, ‘You’ve lived in Canada!’  
Gilbert pursed his lips into a smile, ‘Yeah.’  
The man’s smirk widened, ‘I’m planning to get rich there, Gil. So many opportunities. I plan on buying some land, build factories, maybe get some negros working there for cheap. Big dreams, Gilbert,’ he clapped his hand against Gilbert’s knee, ‘Always dream big.’  
Gilbert nodded and scratched his curls, not meeting the man’s gaze. Did he just come here to gloat about his plans? Felt the need to play the big brother of a stranger? Maybe he pitied Gilbert, as the only young boy on the ship. Or maybe he realised he needed some company. Maybe James needed it too.   
‘Anyway,’ James picked his pack of cards, ‘Wanna play? Do you know a game?’  
Gilbert stared at the cards. He never learnt any games. His father rather did board games. He balled his fists.   
His gaze went up to James. Maybe it was time he learnt a card game.   
‘Teach me something.’

*

James and Gilbert began an easy friendship. Albeit being five years apart, it clicked. James learned Gilbert card games and how to do a British accent; Gilbert taught him the ins and outs of Canada.  
No emotional attachment, just helping each other pass the time. Even the rich like James got bored sometimes/Being bored did not skip on the rich.

‘Hey, James?’  
‘Yes?’  
They were laying on James’ cabin floor (Gilbert was correct: James did in fact have a marble sink) reading as it was raining. The rain pattered against the solid window, wind thumping.  
‘What if your big plans don’t work out?’  
The man took a moment to reply, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. He looked pensive.  
‘Then I try something else.’

It all seemed so easy for James. Gilbert wondered if he ever struggled in life. If he had to walk three miles in deep snow to school. If he sometimes had gone to bed with an empty stomach because they had a bad harvest. If his father died when he was fourteen.   
Probably not.  
But perhaps Gilbert had the same possibilities. Maybe he _could_ choose what he wanted. He wasn’t a farm boy, he liked science and maths. He was good at it.

James stood up with a grunt, placing his novel on the bedside table. ‘I’m going to reserve a table for us,’ Gilbert was ready to decline, but James held his hand up, face determined, ‘Don’t refuse. You need a decent meal.’  
He put on his rain coat, shrugged the hood on his head and left the room. Gilbert felt weird being alone in James’ room. What if someone saw him and thought he was stealing something? He immediately stood up, grabbing his book with him.

Gilbert knew something was wrong the second he stood on deck. Three medics were frantically running around, a cluster of people hanging against the railing, pointing into the water. An employee rushed outside with a lifejacket. He frowned, joining the people at the railing.

James.

Involuntarily, Gilbert screamed his name. The employee stood trembling on the side, angering Gilbert. He snatched the vest from the man, made sure the cord was secure and threw it into the water.

‘James! Grab the vest!’

He couldn’t seem to hear him, trying to stay afloat in the stormy waters. Gilbert gulped visibly, scrutinising his movements. Could… could James swim?

Gilbert suddenly stood on the railing. How he got there, he didn’t remember, only realising it when people were screaming at him in horror. He clutched the vest tighter.

_Anne, I hope you like heroes._

He dove.

The water was cold. It was the only thing that registered into his brain. The water was cold. The water was cold. The water was cold.   
With strong strokes, he rose to the surface, taking a big gulp of air. Hurriedly, he searched for the flailing body of James, the water already tugging at his feet to drag him down to the dark deep.   
There he was, a few metres away.    
Gilbert swam, but with every stroke James seemed to get further away from him. His legs began to get tired too.   
‘No,’ he said resolutely. He tried to swim again. You will not die now, Gilbert thought, pushing his legs. Dad would literally laugh at you from his grave if you died now. His hands cut through the ocean. Fingers grasped his shirt.  
Gilbert shrieked, nearly slapping them away if James hadn’t yelled his name. Instinctively, Gilbert pulled him over his back and embraced the vest.   
‘Pull!’, he screamed as loud as he could.  
‘Pull!’  
‘Pull!’, his voice gave up on him, a scratching noise leaving his lips. Fortunately, the people got the message, and he felt himself getting dragged to the side of the boat. 

They toppled over the railing, Gilbert’s face smashing against the splintered wood as James fell on top of him, unconscious. He dragged himself upright, grabbing the first medic he sees by the sleeve.   
They carried James inside into the infirmary, Gilbert noticing through his swollen eyes how he started bleeding through his shirt.   
The medic placed him on bed, cutting open his shirt. His stomach was open.   
‘In that cabinet is needle, thread and disinfectant,’ the man said, tone calm and collected. He intertwined his finger and began pumping on James’ chest. ‘Find it and help me stitch him up.’  
Gilbert’s lips parted in surprise. He was going to stitch a wound?   
‘Now, child!’  
With trembling hands, he ran to the sterile cabinet. The objects were quickly found, showing them to the medic. Gilbert searched for a name tag: Benjamin.   
James looked like he was in a catatonic state, worrying Gilbert even more. Benjamin swiftly pulled the thread through the needle, tying a knot at the end.   
‘I’m going to keep the wound closed, you’ll stitch. You know how to stitch?’  
He didn’t, but he’d seen the girls do it plenty of times. Gilbert nodded.  
Benjamin quickly cleaned the wound. James screamed in agony, salty tears falling into his mouth. He tried to get out of the medic’s grasp.   
‘Lay still!’, he commanded, keeping James’ legs down with an iron force.   
Benjamin pinched the skin together.   
‘Now.’

Gilbert swallowed back the dead smell of puke as he connected skin with skin, blood staining his hands. Midway his face fell of the side of the steel bed, trying to clear his head and take a breath. Instead, he barfed, the retching hurting his throat even more. Tears streamed over his chin as panic rose from the back of his mind. Would he ever talk again.   
‘Get up, child! Finish the job!’  
Gilbert’s hands clenched the steel, blocking out the stench of blood.   
Come on, Gilbert. Finish the job. You can die later. James _needs_ you.    
Slowly, he rose his head, wiping away the puke with the back of his hand. He said something, but neither him nor Benjamin understood it. Right. His voice.

A minute later James’ stomach was closed. He passed out again.   
Gilbert gripped the steel table as he watched Benjamin place James on a soft bed. A nurse ran inside, instantly realising she was a second too late to the scene. Benjamin glared at her, commanding a blanket.   
God, he felt like he was dying. His swollen eyes made him nearly blind, he was pretty sure his lip was cut and his body weighed down like a two elephants.

‘Child?’  
Benjamin called him.   
‘Chil- Gilbert, right?’  
Answer him.   
‘Gilbert?’  
He passed out.

*

He woke up with a pounding headache as the sun had just filtered through the windows.

Gilbert groaned, right hand pressing against his forehead, curls caressing his skin. His other hand was trying wipe the sleep out of his eyes. It hurt. God, how long did he sleep? It felt like the worst nap he ever had.   
He squinted his eyes open, freezing in the movement. This wasn’t his room. Gilbert shot upright, body wildly jerking from left to right. Rows of white, steel beds, white curtains, nothing else. Gilbert swallowed hardly. Why was he in an infirmary? He didn’t –

All came rushing back; the splinters in his eyes, a bloodied James, water – so much _water_. A tear dragged down his cheek, pitying himself. He didn’t want to be broken and bruised.

‘Dad,’ he croaked, voice incoherent. A heartbreaking sob that twisted his stomach wracked his body. He needed his dad. He needed his comforting arms around his frame, as though he woke up from a nightmare. He needed stories about pirates and knights that slay dragons to calm him down.  
He was still a kid.

Dad, where are you?

‘Dad!’, Gilbert yelled. At least, he thought he did. No sound left his lips. Frustrated, he tried again.   
‘Dad!’ Nothing.

He pressed his head back in the thin pillow, sweat clinging to his skin in a sickly manner, snot building on his upper lip. He wanted his dad, he couldn’t – he just – he wanted to go _home_.  

Gilbert took a shaky breath.

Slowly, he wiped the snot away, wiping it off on the cotton blanket. His eyes fell on a glass of water on a nightstand. It hurt to take a sip, but he felt his throat moistening.

‘Dad?’, he said, a meagre attempt. It sounded hollow, and it echoed through the room. It didn’t even sound like an actual word.

A white curtain got ripped away, revealing a man in a white coat. There were sweat stains on his armpits.

‘Gilbert,’ the man said, ‘you’re awake.’ He advanced to the boy.   
‘Uh – yeah,’ his eyes flitted to the name tag. Benjamin.  
His eyes shot wide in recognition. The man who made him stitch James. Gilbert bit his lip.   
‘Ow!’, he hissed, pressing his fingers against his lower lip. He felt thread.   
‘Don’t do that,’ Benjamin scolded, ‘I stitched your lip. It’s still sore.’ The man dragged a chair next to Gilbert’s bed, sitting down with a thud. Gilbert eyed him cautiously. What did this man want? Couldn’t he just cry alone?

‘Why’re you asking for you dad?’, Benjamin whispered, turning his head to meet Gilbert’s avoiding eyes.

Gilbert balled his fists.

‘Because I need him,’ he started aggressively, jaw clicking, ‘Because I need him to be there, okay? I just –,’ his voice got thick with emotion. ‘I _know_ he’s dead, okay? But that doesn’t mean I don’t think he’s still here. Because he is, okay! He is! And I need him, _now_! I need-‘

Benjamin towered above Gilbert, pushing his head against his chest, engulfing him in his arms.

‘It’s okay.’

Gilbert let go, body going limp in Benjamin’s hold. It wasn’t his father (Benjamin had a much thinner frame) but he could pretend it was. If he wanted it hard enough, he could pretend Benjamin smelled like burnt toast and stuffy books.  
The man’s large hands caressed his back in soothing circles and wiped his dark curls away from his forehead.  

‘It’s okay, Gilbert.’

*

Four days later, Gilbert placed his feet on solid ground. He sighed in pleasure, how much he had craved for this. He jumped up and down for a moment, laughing at his own idiocy. He recalled reading about the “masai” in Kenya, and how they could jump on trees with ease. He frowned, that mustn’t be right. He’d ask mister Philips for that African history book when he got back.

He heard James chuckle behind him.

‘You done?’

Gilbert looked over his shoulder, sympathetic smile curving on his lips. James was walking with crutches, the man who would conquer Canada. His strong demeanour from a week ago seemed much more frail now.

‘Where are you heading?’, asked Gilbert.   
‘Toronto. That’s where the money’s at,’ James laughed, eyes twitching slightly by the tension in his stomach. Gilbert pursed his lips. Benjamin was a good doctor, but they were in a hurry, and he tended the wound – all variables that could be negative for James. Gilbert already felt guilty for something that may happen, and he didn’t know where on sea he lost his confidence. He remembered Gilbert From Avonlea, but he didn’t quite know how to get back to him. Maybe it wasn’t possible.

‘Gilbert?’

‘Hm?’ He had dazed of, he realised. He seemed to do that more often, which didn’t seem healthy to him. Although, Anne was in a constant daydream all the time. Gilbert folded his hands. He was frazzled and he didn’t like it.

‘Take care,’ James’ sincerity came through in his voice, making Gilbert genuinely smile too, with teeth and all.

But where did he lose his confidence? He remembered his nonchalance, his charms. It seemed like now he was just a stuttering, unfocused mess. He had to get control. His eyes met James again.  

‘Thanks. You too.’    

Gilbert hadn’t expected a grand, dramatic goodbye. Nor a hug or inspirational words or tears. It was simple and clinical. He and James bonded in a way he may never do with someone else again, and that was okay. He’d always have a character in his mind to tell his future children when they were bored. Gilbert watched him disappear in the mass of people dragging suitcases and crates, between running children and paupers. A mop of blonde hair and crutches, a few strands, and then he was gone.

Gilbert went the other way.

*

Blossom tree flowers brushed against his window, filtering the sunlight in rosy hues and casting upon his face. Gilbert felt drowsy, lulling into a deep sleep as he had been seated for many hours on the train to Nova Scotia. His backpack was held tightly, his knuckles white. People weren’t afraid to steal your stuff once you fell asleep.

The train jerked to the right.

Gilbert watched the people around him, trying to divert his attention from the much needed sleep.   
The lone man reading a newspaper, a mum and her four children, an older couple, very much reminiscent of the Cuthbert’s.   
His eyes fell back on the blossom.   
He hadn’t really thought it through what he’d do when he’d see Anne. Were they friends? They did shake hands on peace. But did that mean he could hug her as a hello? Or was that improper? Gilbert pursed his lips. Maybe he should wait and see how she reacted – yeah, that’s sounds right. But if he could choose, he’d pick her up in his arms and envelop her in a hug, and her hands would slip under his jacket and hold onto his sweater tightly. He has wondered for some time now how that would feel: hugging Anne, pressing his nose in her neck. Gilbert couldn’t help but release a smile.

And if he was even bolder, he’d kiss her.

His eyes trailed back to the mum and her four children, but his mind was somewhere else, all the way back to the warm Avonlea where a girl with a fiery soul and poignant words has captured his heart.

He released his rucksack from his iron hold, dropping it with a thud and leaning his head against the window.

Blossom tree flowers brushed against his window, and Gilbert fell asleep.

From Nova Scotia he had to wait two hours before boarding the train to Avonlea. There he found some kind merchants that had some space left in the carrier and brought him with to the city centre.

It was early, as he was walking to his home, the sun rose along with him. Slowly the hum of animals resonated through the wide open fields the deeper he got into the countryside. The hem of his trousers were wet with moisture from the tall grass.

Every once in a while he passed a farmer, who waved at him with their straw hat.

He walked past Ruby Gillis’ house (whose roof still looked brand new – he observed proudly), Rachel Lynde’s and then got to his own. He paused, taking it in.

Nothing has changed. Aside from dust clinging at the windows and spider webs clogging the corners, it was still his house. He cringed as he suddenly remembered how he had forgotten to do anything about the orchard. The ground probably resembled a genocide of rotten apples. He didn’t feel like looking now, though.

The sun is high in the sky when he finally has the heart to enter his home. It was really cold, but in a few hours with the heater on, it’d be fine. Just as he was about to close the front door, he noticed a frayed piece of paper kept in place in a flower pot with some dirt. Gilbert frowned, that wasn’t there when he left, was it?

_Gilbert,_

_As you decided to leave for an unknown amount of time, I picked the apples from your orchard as I felt awful about the thought of them falling and rotting._  
You were right: they’re really sweet.   
Hope you don’t mind. If you ever come back, you can try Marilla’s apple pie. It’s divine!

_Anne_

A grin broke on his face. Anne. Anne was here and stole his apples but did it really matter because she had been here and thought of him and left a note just like he had left countless ones for her. He shook his curls, folding it carefully. He was going to keep this.

(Not to tease her with it – _not at all_.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can scream at me on my Tumblr: http://lydias--stiles.tumblr.com/
> 
> Also, you can expect an unexpected POV next chapter. Can you guess who?


	3. Chapter three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert starts settling again in Avonlea.
> 
> Meanwhile on the other side of town, a certain tattletale has some very exciting news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides under blanket*  
> I'M SORRY FOR THE WAIT. I don't know what happened, really. Like school was really hectic and suddenly I was never home and just - - - here we arE. This is written over the course of several weeks. Not edited not beta-ed. Hopefully you enjoy.
> 
> Any last guesses on who are mystery POV could be?

**RACHEL LYNDE** got a visit from Elizabeth-Marie Hastings around three in the afternoon, just as she was putting a cherry pie in the oven. The petite lady with her peculiar hats ran through the front door without pardon and an excited look on her face. The peacock feathers on her hat bounced up and down. On a good day, the hag looked like she sucked lemon juice and kept it in her mouth. Her being as vivacious as the obnoxious Anne Shirley-Cuthbert amused and terrified Rachel at the same time.

‘Rachel! I have some exciting news!’, the lady cried, placing her hat on the kitchen island, not bothered by the stains of flower.

‘What is it, Elizabeth-Marie?’, Rachel sighed, turning her back to her. Rachel was always eager for the latest town gossip, but she couldn’t _stand_ Elizabeth. She never attended any parties and locked herself up with her poor husband in their big mansion. Rachel knew Henry, Elizabeth’s husband, in his younger years. Always laughing and happy. How he decided to marry the soul sucking witch behind her was beyond her.

‘I heard from Taylor, who heard it from Addison, who heard it from Charles, who heard it from Pierre, who heard it from Adeline, who heard it fro-‘

‘Oh, get to the point!’, she whirled around and snapped, wiping her hands of her apron, ‘What did you hear?’

Elizabeth-Marie glared at her, before the excitement overtook her again, ‘Someone saw Gilbert Blythe returning home!’

Rachel’s jaw fell slack. Gilbert Blythe? It couldn’t be… he hadn’t been home in months! And she knew, she passed the Blythe home at least once a week when she headed to Marilla.

‘Are you sure? People love to make up stories.’

Elizabeth-Marie seemed offended by Rachel’s suspicions of her credibility. Rachel huffed as Elizabeth pursed her lips in a lemon-sucking scowl. There she was.

‘I’m sure. Now if you’ll excuse me, Henry is waiting on me to make afternoon tea.’ Elizabeth took her awful peacock hat, primly nodded at Rachel and left the house.  
God, she really hated that woman.

Rachel crossed her arms, looking out of the window with a pensive look on her face. Gilbert Blythe is back.  
The last thing she heard of him was a rumour that he was trying to get enough money to get on a steamer to travel across the world. See Europe and all that nonsense. A foolish decision for a young boy, but who was there to hold him back? A melancholic smile crept on her aging features. She missed John. He was a good man – Marilla’s first crush too. Oh, how she remembered constantly teasing Marilla about it.

(“He has a top hat, Marilla! It’s idiotic!”  
“It’s – it’s adorable, okay?”)

But what had the young boy to return to? An empty house? A withering field and an apple-less orchard? School, yes, but the boy was already bright. Rachel pursed her lips, letting her mind imagine the wildest theories.

Maybe he found in the will of John he’d receive a fortune? Or maybe he was on the run! The cheeky, little boy!

Could she tell someone? Rachel clamped a hand against her chest at the thought of keeping it to herself.  
Surely, she could if that witch of a lady was speaking her mouth off, right? Right, Rachel assured herself. Tomorrow, she’d pay her dearest friend Marilla a visit to tell her the grand news. Or gossip. She wasn’t sure yet if he was actually back in Avonlea. Rachel huffed, she should’ve let Elizabeth continue her spiel on who she heard it from to know the source. If it came from Heather – God, help her – it’d be a filthy lie. That woman only spread lies for attention because her man left her for a model from Paris.  
At least, that was what Rachel had heard.

The next day, bright and early, Rachel took off to Green Gables. In her bag, two jars of freshly made jam and a slice of the pie she made yesterday, as well as some raspberry cordial she snuck with her when Thomas wasn’t looking. Not that she was planning on getting drunk with Marilla – God no! But perhaps, when the time was right, they’d have a glass or two. Or three. Or four. Rachel dismissed the thought. There were more important matters.

Jerry opened the gate for her.  
‘Bonjour, Rachel,’ Jerry smiled, running to close the gate once Rachel passed him. They’ve become acquainted with each other after Matthew died and Rachel felt obliged to be around more. Against all odds, they created an amicable relationship.  
‘Hello, Jerry,’ Rachel greeted, taking of her hat, ‘how are you?’  
‘Good, do I need to hold that bag for you?’  
‘No, it’s fine,’ Rachel tried her hardest not to dislike Anne, but whenever she saw the kind, hardworking Jerry, it was hard not to. Their lives would’ve been a lot less dramatic if that redheaded girl hadn’t stayed. Alas, here they were.  
‘Alright. See you, miss Lynde!’, he ran off, back into the barn. A lone chicken fluttered away from the sprinting boy.

As usual, Marilla was busying herself in the kitchen, making sure the bread was baking properly and scrubbing tabletops clean. The perpetual scowl on her face softened at the sight of her best friend. Rachel took pride in that title. That’s right, she was the bosom friend of Marilla Cuthbert!

‘Rachel,’ Marilla smirked. It seemed like she already knew what Rachel was going to say. The woman scoffed at the thought, was she _that_ predictable?

‘Oh, wipe that smirk of your face, Marilla Cuthbert, you haven’t gotten a clue about this week’s gossip!’

Marilla showed her back, rubbing a sticky spot from the washbasin. ‘Let me guess, someone we know has been seen inside a brothel?’

Rachel rolled her eyes and glared at her friend’s back. ‘ _Yes_ , but that was not what I was going to say – it’s Mr. Holloway –,’ Marilla turned around surprised, ‘This news is bigger!’

Marilla blinked, voice shrill, ‘Bigger than the fact our _priest_ was seen in a _brothel_?’  
Rachel clasped her hands together, face alight with excitement. She hadn’t been able to pass the news for a whole twelve hours and it had been eating her alive!

‘Gilbert Blythe is back!’

Marilla’s jaw fell slack, eyes widening. Rachel’s lips quirked up, feeling satisfied. Her work was done for today.

‘Rachel Lynde, don’t spout such nonsense!’, Marilla scolded, dashing the table cloth in her apron.  
‘Please, as if I ever tell you lies!’  
‘Don’t think I don’t remember you said Peter York fancied me when that wasn’t true!’  
‘He was shy!’  
‘Rachel!’

‘Oh, Marilla,’ Rachel sighed, plopping down at the dining table. Marilla rose one eyebrow, amused. ‘You’re not listening to me: Gilbert Blythe is back.’

‘Yes, I’ve heard it well enough the first time,’ Marilla replied dryly.

‘But _why_?’ The question in matter was driving Rachel mad. It had kept her up all night, as opposed to Thomas’ incessant snoring.

‘Does it matter? The boy is back, end of story. To go back to school, perhaps? Which is very sensible of him, is it not?’, Marilla’s tone felt definitive, a tone she utilised whenever the situation didn’t please her. Rachel grumbled in her seat, but thanked her friend nonetheless when a banal cup of hot tea was placed in front of her.

Jerry softly stepped into the kitchen, guilty yet cautious expression on his face. Rachel narrowed her eyes slightly, smirking. He must’ve heard the thrilling piece of gossip too!  
‘Uh – miss Cuthbert, I found these in the supply cabinet in the barn and uh – I thought you would like them,’ Jerry’s trembling hands (of the cold? Of fear? Rachel wasn’t sure. Nevertheless, she pitied the boy.) displayed an old hat and a ratted vest that could have only belonged to… to Matthew. Rachel looked away, biting her lower lip. She missed him dearly, and thought of him every day. He was foolish at times, but she loved him all the same. It was odd not hearing him rumble in the shed or give Marilla a dopey smile whenever he asked for a cup of tea in the middle of the day. It was odd only seeing Marilla and Anne at church. It was odd not hearing the siblings bicker. It was extraordinarily bizarre that Matthew Cuthbert stepped out of their lives just three months ago. Rachel hadn’t said anything yet, but she was worried for Marilla. She still placed three plates on the dining table.

Marilla’s eyes glazed over, her voice raising an octave higher, ‘Thank -,’ she coughed, ‘Thank you, Jerry.’ Her nimble hands took them from him, caressing the rough fabric fondly and with care.  
‘You can go now. I’m sure you still need to fix the chicken coop.’

Jerry nodded solemnly, rearranging his hat before leaving the two aging women again, who were coated with a layer of regretful silence.

‘Marilla,’ Rachel whispered. Her hand edged towards her friend, whose shoulders were shaking. Marilla never cried in front of people. She said crying never solved anything, so why bother even starting the fuss? Rachel was against that belief, but who has ever changed Marilla’s stubborn mind?

(Well, Anne. But Rachel wasn’t going to admit that just yet.)

‘Thomas must be waiting on you, no?’, Marilla choked out, face twisted in pain. The woman hid her face in the shadow of the fluttering curtains.

Rachel sighed. ‘Yes. I’ll see you soon, Marilla.’  
Her friend nodded, back fully turned towards her.

When Rachel closed the back door shut, she heard the sob erupting from Marilla’s lips. Chokingly, like a heart being ripped out of its chest.

God, Gilbert Blythe being back was now the least of her worries.

*

_Dear Anne,_

_It’s weird being back. nothing seemed to have changed, yet I know that when I get back into the world, everything will. Maybe some already know I’m back. I wouldn’t be surprised if that infamous lady, miss Rachel Lynde, talked her mouth off to everyone she saw these past days._

_Has school changed? I heard a rumour before I left that Prissy Andrews and mister Philips had an affair. Was that true? If so, do we have a new teacher? One that doesn’t limit your imagination? I would love to hear to hear you recite more in class. I’ve missed you ~~r voice, if I can be frank. No one in Europe talks as eloquently as you.~~_

_I wonder when it’d be a good time to visit. I don’t even know if you’d like to see me. The truce is still on, right?_

*

**GILBERT BLYTHE**  stared at himself in the mirror. The mirror was familiar for once – quite dusty too. He hasn’t cleaned the bathroom yet. It was upsetting, seeing himself. He had stupidly hoped that those mirrors in Europe were distorted, but that was false. He _had_ grown, and the bags under his eyes _were_ prominent. He looked older, and not in a good way.   

He shuffled into the kitchen, preparing his satchel. There was nothing in the pantry, aside from a few jars of jam that have survived due to the excessive amount of sugar. He couldn’t recall how the jam got there, but he assumed it was one of the many trips Ruby and Diana went on to gift him food. Gilbert involuntarily smiled, remembering how Anne went on one too as well. Just once. How different everything was back then.

Right, preparing his satchel. He was going to the school, asking Philips to let him enter again. Gilbert knew the teacher was now at school, scheduling his lessons. You could say what you want about Philips, but he did care about education.

After stuffing some books he still had from the school, he left. Gilbert was anxious though, afraid of being seen. It was Sunday, everyone’s lazy day, but it could still happen the talkative Rachel spotted him or worse – Billy passing him in the woods. If he thought of it hard enough, he could still hear the nauseating sound of his fist connecting with Billy’s cheekbone, creating a worrying, cracking sound. Gilbert hoped he’d never have to fight again.

He inhaled the fresh air of the woods deeply, closing his eyes. How much he missed this place; playing hide and seek or tag with the boys, reading on a tree branch – this was his safe place, his solitude. If not a certain redheaded girl, it would’ve been the woods that brought him back. He hadn’t seen many trees in the past year, and standing here, he could officially announce that he did not like the sea.

Momentarily fumbling with a thread from his trousers, (He should get a new pair. He’s grown out of them.) he had forgotten where he was. Gilbert clenched his eyes shut, collecting his thoughts. He really should get his daydreaming in check.

‘Come on, Diana! Ruby’s already waiting!’, a high, giggling voice disrupted the tranquil silence. Instinctively, Gilbert hid behind a big oak tree, heart beat accelerating. He wasn’t ready to face the music yet, _especially_ girls from his school. For a second he wished it was Rachel.  
The footsteps were close, but parallel to where he was standing, so it didn’t seem like they’d cross him. A relieved sigh escaped his lips. Thank you, God.

Diana’s sweet laughter followed, ‘I’m still _astounded_ that Ruby decided to join your writing club, Anne. She was never that big on learning, but now she wants to use 25-cent words too!’

Gilbert heart stopped. No way.

‘I have a good ear, my friend, and you just used one as well! How _astounding_!’, Anne dragged out the last word, laughing whilst mocking her friend. Suddenly a scream and a ruffling of leaves.

‘Diana!’

Gilbert sneakily looked around the trunk. There the two girls laid, between the fallen leaves and dirt tickling each other, mingled with guffaws of blissful laughter. What a sight.  
His eyes fell on Anne, taking the girl in. It was odd seeing her again after such a long time. Memories only give so much – suddenly seeing her in such vibrancy was shocking. Her hair had turned darker and she’d grown taller. Her complexion was still as pale as it was before, but even from afar he could see she had much more freckles than before.  
She was a classical beauty. Or she was like wine, getting better with age.  
Diana had changed as well. She’d grown too, and her usually proper hair was bounded together casually.  
They both… well. Gilbert averted his eyes. His dad would slap him if he could read his mind right now.  
Slowly, the pair went back on their route, getting away from him. They hadn’t noticed him, luckily, or else he’d been stamped as a creep for the rest of his lifetime.

His heartbeat tempered.

Anne may not want to see him, but he’d seen her entrancing self. Gilbert had been completely mesmerised by her and she didn’t have to do anything.

Slowly, he resumed his trip to school.

 

At dusk, Gilbert finally got out of the woods, only a mile from home. It took him a while, as he kept hiding from people. He found himself acting ridiculous, but he just wasn’t ready. Ready to be grounded in reality, a reality where his father was dead and he had to walk the ground his father walked on so carelessly a few years ago, before old age got him.  
Mister Philips was happy to see him again, which was unsurprising. Gilbert knew the teacher loved him. He had to stay home until Wednesday, and then he was allowed to continue with the class as they would be starting new subjects. His seat was apparently taken by another kid. The thought of someone replacing him made him angry, although he didn’t exactly know why. Perhaps he was tired.  
Just as he passed the corner, house in view, a piece of cloth caught his eye in his peripheral vision. A dress. He abruptly turned to the woman, too late to hide.  
Gilbert’s eyes widened.

Marilla Cuthbert.

The woman stood there frozen, mouth agape and eyes flitting over his face. Gilbert had only ever seen miss Cuthbert as a stoic, no-nonsense woman. Having her in front of him stunned was shocking for him too.

He chucked his hat off, ‘Um – hello, miss Cuthbert. Wha- what are you doing so far from Green Gables so late?’, he cursed himself inwardly for stuttering. Daydreaming, stuttering, flustered – he was not like Old Gilbert at all. Socially inept, yes.

The woman straightened her back. ‘Hello Gilbert. There was a rumour you were back and I wanted to see it with my own two eyes,’ He bet it was Rachel, ‘I assume you don’t have any food?’

Gilbert’s eyes flitted to the basket firmly kept in Marilla’s thin fingers. His stomach grumbled.

‘No, I don’t.’

Wordlessly, she handed the basket to him, wiping her hands of her apron and smoothing her hair down.

‘Well…’, she trailed, ‘have a good week. If you need anything…’  
‘Thank you,’ Gilbert cut her off, ‘but I will be alright. Thank you, for the food.’  
‘Of course.’

The lady turned around with a prim nod and got on her way back to Green Gables, three miles from here. Gilbert ducked his head, opening the basket curiously.  
Milk, butter, bread, potatoes, jam, tea herbs and – his face split in a grin – an apple pie.   

‘Thank you, miss Cuthbert!’, he yelled, not bothered if anyone heard him. She turned around, smiling.  
‘Oh, and was it Rachel!?’  
‘Naturally.’ She didn’t yell, her voice strong enough to carry through the open space. He smirked.  
The predictability of Avonlea comforted him a little bit, making him hope that everything would be alright.            

*

_Dear Anne,_

_I can’t believe I finally saw you after so long. You were more beautiful than I could’ve ever imagined in my wildest dreams._

*

A few days later, at dawn, Gilbert made the effort to return the basket to the Cuthbert’s. It was a long walk, but he needed the exercise.

Bees were swarming in his stomach with each step he took. It was nauseating, edging closer to people, voluntarily interacting again after James. Was he okay? Gilbert felt guilty for not thinking of him anymore, but he an inkling he hadn’t been much on James’ mind either. On Sebastian’s too. The first was probably too busy conquering North America, and the latter simply had better things to do.

His surroundings began to familiarise, noting him he was close. Gilbert wondered how Matthew was doing, and if he was still up for helping him get the orchard back in shape. Or if they still had that weird French boy, Jerry, as their help. He was small and gangly, so Gilbert couldn’t really imagine him being that helpful.  
Then again, he used to be gangly too.

There it was, Green Gables in al its lush glory and dreamy view. The beaming sun hitting the roof tiles, breaking the light in flares of atmospheric rainbow colours. The farm stood tall and pride, grass well kept. Matthew must’ve been breaking his back to get everything perfect!

Jerry took notice of the guest, running towards the gate. He slowed down once recognising Gilbert.  
‘Hey – I remember you! You were the guy we saw in town last year!’, said Jerry instead of a greeting.

Gilbert pressed his lips into a smile, ‘Yeah – uh, I’m here to give Marilla her basket back.’

‘Oh,’ Jerry stuck his hand out, tops of his fingers covered in dirt, ‘just give it to me. I’ll give it to her.’

Gilbert tightened his hold, ‘No, thank you. I’d like to thank her personally.’

Jerry rolled his eyes, but opened the gate nonetheless. Gilbert rose his eyebrow unamused, what a weird boy.  
When Gilbert didn’t move for a second, Jerry sighed, ‘ _Vas-y_.’

Just as he stood in front of the door, he froze. A lot could go wrong. What if Marilla told everyone the rumour was true and people started incessantly pitying him again with those stupid, sad smiles? What if no one was home or Matthew was still sick or Anne went back to hating him? He hated feeling so insecure. Why couldn’t he be the same as he was before? Gilbert almost wanted to curse his father for dying and leaving him in a mental space like this, but then reminded himself he’d rather also go to Heaven. Although, is there a Heaven anyway?  

Focus, Gilbert.

He knocked on the door

 

and was faced with a fifteen year old redhead.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scream at me on my Tumblr: http://lydias--stiles.tumblr.com/ask


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert has an eventful day at school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *comes busting through the door* IM HERE IM NOT DEAD IM HERE 
> 
> I won't apologise for updating after 23 days of silence. Just know that updates are sporadic.  
> You may have noticed that I've put a limit to my chapters, only six in total! The end is near!
> 
> Fluff and comfort is very current this chapter. Still very much a character study on Gilbert though, which is what you are all here for :)
> 
> ANYWAY (hehe) read on, lovelies!

He wasn’t prepared. Him, famous for swift talks and easy smiles, was frozen. Anne looked more gorgeous up close, with her intricately braided hair and classic features. Her skin held entire galaxies on the bridge of her nose. His entire journal wouldn’t be able to decipher the beauty that she was.

As Gilbert was struck by lightning, he barely noticed Anne’s expression too. Whereas the girl was usually quite open about her emotions, evoking them wholeheartedly, was now frazzled. Her lips opening and closing, eyebrows furrowing and raising, a breathy smile. She pressed her lips together, a habit she seemed to have taken from Miss Cuthbert.

‘Wh-‘, she tried to speak, voice cracking in astonishment. Gilbert still couldn’t grasp her presence. She was _here_ , in front of him. Not an ugly shadow or illusion, a mirage of his wishful fantasies. Anne was real.

‘I,’ his voice cracked, ‘I promised Marilla I’d bring her basket back.’ He shook the woven basket, Anne’s eyes falling on the object. She furrowed her eyebrows.

‘How did you get her basket? I didn’t see it when I-,’ she abruptly clamped her mouth shut, eyes alarmed and wide. If he wasn’t amused by her antics he’d try to imprint the colour of her eyes in his brain so he could sketch it later on.   
‘Wait,’ Anne said, snapping him out of his reverie, ‘Marilla _knew_ you were back?!’, her voice raised an octave, one foot stomping on the wooden floor in fury.

‘Uh-‘

‘Perfect. _Of course_ , she knew! Probably that nosy lady Rachel saw you coming from miles away! Ha, I bet Jerry even knows! Belle knows! And of course, no one thought to tell me, I mean who would tell the girl who-,’ she stopped, catching herself as if remembering he was watching her. ‘Never mind. There’s no point in falling into the depths of despair because of some futile fact that you decided to return to the quaint Avonlea. It’s quaint, no? Have you seen the new seamstress’ atelier? Absolutely scrumptious! I-‘

‘Anne Shirley-Cuthbert! Whose ears are you blabbing off?!’, Marilla Cuthbert’s commanding voice cut through Anne’s rambles. Although Gilbert very much liked Anne’s monologues, he’d rather have a real conversation with her, like the one in the city, oh so many months ago.

‘Marilla!’, Anne shrieked. The woman held her hand up, indicating Anne to wait a second as her eyes fell on the dangling basket in Gilbert’s hand, taking it from him.   
‘Anne, take this to the pantry, and calm down for Heaven’s sake!’, Marilla tutted. Gilbert’s lips formed a lopsided smile, eyes watching a retreating Anne.

‘Thank you for returning the basket, Gilbert,’ Marilla said politely, hands clasped together.

‘It was nothing,’ Gilbert placed all his weight on one foot, rocking slightly, ‘Uh – can I see Matthew? I’d like to talk to him about the orchard.’

Marilla remained quiet after his request, and an unsettling feeling churned in his stomach. A light had gone out in the usually rather determined eyes of the older woman. Now that Gilbert thought about it, he only saw Jerry scampering around. Gilbert’s right eye trembled, another nervous tic he had.

‘Matthew passed away a few months ago, Gilbert,’ said Marilla solemnly, staring at the ground. Her knuckles turned white as she held the doorknob.

No. It couldn’t be.

‘W-what?’, he forced from his lips, the trembling intensifying.

‘He had a second heart attack,’ Marilla choked out, turning her head away from him. ‘Excuse me.’

He didn’t hear her apology, ears ringing loudly as the confession buzzed in his head. He had another heart attack. Matthew was gone. The man who wanted to help him, who was endlessly and unconditionally kind. Who brought in Anne without any prejudices. Every comforting smile, fatherly hand, teasing wink – gone with his ashes, six feet under a patch of mud and grass. As if it meant nothing.   
He screwed his eyes shut, demanding to keep his glazing eyes from tearing up.   
But Matthew was _dead_.

A flagitious tear escaped and rolled down his cheek, leaving a mark. Gilbert quickly wiped it away, inhaling deeply. He couldn’t break down here, so inappropriately, when Marilla and Anne were here. He hardly at any relation to Matthew anyway; it would just be rude.

He opened his eyes, realising that Marilla has left him in the doorway with a certain redhead peeking at him worriedly from around the corner. He tugged his lip up.   
Blushing as she got caught in the act, Anne revealed herself. She motioned at him to come inside, him closing the door behind him, a small creak heard in the deadly silence that weighed upon the bright household like a thick veil. What a paradox.

In the kitchen, Anne turned around to face him again, eyes roving his face. Gilbert couldn’t really complain, as he did the same. Her eyebrows were fuller than before, he noticed.

‘You came back.’

Her crystalline voice broke the tension, making him jump slightly. Come on, Gilbert, _relax_. Be Old Gilbert again. The one who’d smirk at Anne, just to get on her nerves. Or who had the guts to stand up in the middle of class to hand her a stupid apple. Gilbert tried mustering up his old self, but when he tried, it felt fake.  
Instead, he replied. No winks or teasing attached.

‘Yeah,’ he whispered, his eyes searching for any emotion in hers. But she seemed stoic. He tried again, putting a smile on his face.

‘So, how’s school?’, he coughed, muttering. Come on, Gilbert. He clenched his fist, nails digging into the callous skin as he urged himself for his old self to resurface.   
‘Still on top?’, the latter came out teasing, surprising Gilbert himself. Maybe the Gilbert he once was hasn’t completely left his soul.           

Anne narrowed her eyes at him, amused. ‘Obviously,’ she drawled, ‘With you gone, I reign the academia like a respectful queen. I’ve even conquered geometry!’, the girl boasted, sticking her chin out.

‘You? Geometry?’, he puffed. His relaxed stance did feel unnatural, but he hadn’t felt this normal in a while. Gilbert hasn’t realised until now the impact it had on his mind by not talking to anyone his age for months on end. Even James was different, albeit him just being twenty years old.

Anne deflated, ‘That may have been an exaggeration. But I will not stand you decreasing my unwavering confidence in getting it right one day!’, she turned red, embarrassed by her bold reaction.  
The image warmed his heart, impulsively edging closer and teasingly tugging at a strand of her fiery hair. Anne froze.  

Gilbert’s heart took flight, his eyes widening in surprise. What did he just do? Gilbert immediately retracted his hand, but remained standing close. It felt nerve-wracking and so right at the same time. The tension rose again, both of the teenagers seemingly anticipating _something_. Gilbert couldn’t describe the feeling, but he felt like he should tug at her hair again, only to gently pull her closer by the neck.   
Anne was the first to break their stare, eyes averting to the ground and stepping away. Self-consciously, she began braiding a piece of her hair. His eyes scrutinised the motion. He has always wondered how they did it. He had tried figuring it out when his sisters, Madison and Elizabeth, were still alive, but he had been too young to get the hang of it.   
Gilbert would try to remember asking her in the future to teach him. He smiled at the image. Them, by the lake, cascaded by the golden beams of light, braiding. How odd and delightful.

‘Excuse me for my improper reaction, Gilbert, I – oh.’ Marilla entered the kitchen, abruptly intervening her own apology as she saw the intimate position the two were in. Albeit Anne stepped back, they were still close. He could easily… well.

Gilbert could easily kiss her if he’d like. And he would.

‘Uh,’ Marilla picked herself back up, straightening her back, ‘Can we do anything else for you?’

Gilbert smiled at the lady, before his eyes flitted back to Anne, who seemed very interested in a particular spot on the ground. Perhaps he had shaken up Anne enough for today.

‘No, thank you, miss Cuthbert. Maybe I can help you with something in the future?’

Marilla quirked up her lips, ‘We’ll see.’

*

Wednesday morning came fast, and Gilbert was terrified. Excited to hear the scribbling of chalk on slate again, giggling whispers and rustling skirts; but nevertheless terrified. How would his schoolmates react to his return? Excited as well? Or – he gulped – disinterested? Maybe they’ve forgotten about him, or talk about him seldomly as if he passed away. Gilbert didn’t know which one was worse.  
Charlie and Moody, his two childhood friends, would they still want to be around him? He abruptly left without a trace, what if they were mad? His eye twitched.  
But Anne was there too, and they were on friendly terms, right? Right, he assured himself. Not companions, but friendly, and that was enough for him right now. Just someone he could smile to and be insured he’d get a smile back, even if it’s a tug of the lip. The thought brought a smile of his own. Someday, Anne and him would be friends.

His footsteps echoed throughout the spacious home that was still vacant of furniture. He couldn’t bring himself to furnish it, as the home wouldn’t feel like Gilbert’s home, but John and Gilbert’s home, and Gilbert wasn’t sure he was ready for that. His dad’s presence lingered behind his eyes and on his fingertips, whispering in his ear and itching his sides. He was everywhere, except here, and Gilbert kind of liked that.

Gilbert closed the front door behind him, stumbling down the steps of his porch. It has rained last night, a few puddles marking the ground. He stared at his reflection as he passed one, quickly wiping a remnant of jam away that had clung to the corner of his mouth. He must look normal. Not Sad Gilbert, or Twitchy Gilbert, or Fake Gilbert – just Gilbert. Nothing more, nothing less. Just like when he came back from his trip to Alberta, when he was still fourteen and smirking. A weird sense of nostalgia came over him as he turned the corner, face heading towards the ominous woods. Every day he had stepped these steps to school, and now he was doing it again.   
Maybe he was the Normal Gilbert.

His pace was slow, taking in the nature around him. Springtime dared to show herself, filtering warmth through the leaves that began to grow again. He could almost imagine the beams burning off the dark circles underneath his eyes, removing any sign of distress.  
In the distance, he saw a tiny dot with a red flick of paint. Anne. Gilbert’s smile broadened, but just as he was about to call her name, the tiny dot hugged another tiny dot, now a brown flick. That must be Diana. The words fell unsaid on the ground, Gilbert walking over them as he continued his journey. He’d talk to them at school.

Someone he didn’t expect to talk to so soon, was Billy.   
But alas, when he bent down to tie his shoelaces, a shadow casted upon him. Gilbert looked up, and there he stood, a few centimetres taller than last time: Billy Andrews. His blonde hair was shorter, but his torso broader. He looked like an adult, and it scared Gilbert a little bit.

‘Gilbert,’ Billy said surprised, eyebrows raising. His voice has dropped. Gilbert’s voice had too, but it was odd hearing Billy with a baritone. ‘W-what are you doing back, bud?’

A slight satisfaction came from hearing Billy stutter, but Gilbert didn’t show it. ‘I decided to finish school.’

‘Oh,’ Billy said, resuming his way to school. Gilbert followed, stepping to his side. The last time they walked together, Gilbert had turned around in fury and hit him in the face. In actuality, they used to be great friends, until it watered with that fight being the last straw. He hadn’t anticipated a moment like this.   
‘Yeah… so how’s school?’

‘Hm?’, Billy said, seemingly out of it. Almost nervous. Gilbert scrutinised him. Did he… did he scare Billy?                

‘How’s school?’, Gilbert repeated.

‘Oh,’ it came out smug, smirk on his face, ‘I’m doing great. Those tests are getting way too easy. Even scored Josie as my girlfriend too. And that ugly orph –,’ Billy abruptly stopped talking, eyes widening slightly as they flitted to Gilbert. Gilbert caught those last words, and was surprised Billy held back. Maybe his words did make an impact on him. Figuratively, that is. He truly hoped Billy hadn’t messed with Anne whilst he was gone. She didn’t deserve any more pain.

‘Uh yeah, that’s about it.’

‘Good.’

School came into view, and they silently made their way up the steps, Gilbert a little bit behind Billy, taking it all in. The running toddlers, the old, white wood, a row of jars of milk in the clear stream, yelling inside – the familiarity was comforting and gave him a surge of confidence.  
Billy had already gone inside, leaving Gilbert to make a lone entrance. His confidence already faltered slightly.

No, Gilbert told himself, I can do this.   
His eye twitched.

Gilbert opened the front door, the noise amplifying. Boys were sitting on desks, others on stools with their feet up. The girls the same, only their feet were crossed at the ankles and securely on the ground. He wouldn’t be surprised if Anne had ever defied that rule though.  
With a small grin, he hung up his jacket and hat on the coat rack. He wondered if boys and girls were finally allowed to have mixed seating, as that was allowed in Ireland. At least, that’s what a schoolgirl had told him when he had been buying apples at a marketplace. Gilbert wiped the silly thought away. Anne would never sit next to him, Diana and her were a packaged deal, like two geese paired for life.

It was then that he stumbled over his own feet, and the noise stopped.

Gilbert wanted to scream at his own stupidity. He, the boy who had been prided for his swiftness, fell over his own feet? Who was he, the limp of Charter Street that always asked for money?

But it happened, and all the pupils were staring at him, aside from a smirking Billy who was whispering something in Josie’s ear.   
Nobody approached him, just as he expected but the disappointment was still prominent. Has he become such a stranger? He was only met with confused and curious stares. No, “Hey Gilbert!”-s were yelled. It was like he was a nobody. The talking arose again, mostly around a ginger boy with a loud laugh which carried throughout the room.

Gilbert was an annoying fly to them.

Gilbert’s heart stammered loudly, desperately searching for a comforting smile or – Gilbert was too frazzled, not finding the right words – just someone.  
His eyes met Anne.

She stood next to Diana, who stared at him too with a gleam of excitement. Ruby, on the other hand, seemed indifferent. Where there used to be concerning admiration, was now nothing. Gilbert didn’t know which he preferred. He secretly had counted on Ruby to welcome him again, but even she has left him in the dirt.

Gilbert’s head snapped to the right when he heard his name.  
‘Hey, Gilbert!’, Moody exclaimed, tugging Charlie with him, away from a redheaded boy. Gilbert took note of the boy for a moment. He was new. And he was in Gilbert’s old seat. Involuntarily, his fists clenched, yet forced himself to focus on the one boy that greeted him. Charlie seemed opposed to Moody’s action, but shot Gilbert a smile nevertheless.

‘Hey, Gilbert.’

‘It’s been so long!,’ Moody said, ‘How was uh –‘

‘Europe,’ Gilbert smiled. Moody’s jaw fell slack. Gilbert didn’t want to admit it, but he _loved_ the attention, even if it was just by an easily awed Moody.  
Out of the corner of  his eye, he saw Diana making her way towards him, a silent Anne behind her. Ruby retracted herself from the group to stand in the big circle surrounding the ginger.

‘Hello Gilbert! Such a pleasure to see you again!’, Diana beamed. He nodded at her, grateful for her enthusiasm.

‘You too, Diana. I’m glad to be back,’ his eyes fell on Anne again, who avoided his stare. Was she still embarrassed by their close proximity two days ago? He prayed not. In the moment, it didn’t seem like she hated it.           

A thunderous laughter erupted from the group of the ginger again. Anne dramatically rolled her eyes.   
‘Seriously?’, he heard her drawl at Diana. Her friend giggled, shaking her head.

‘Who’s that?’, Gilbert asked. The boy reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t place his finger on it.

‘That’s Cole,’ Charlie said, ‘He got here a month after you left. He came from _California_ ,’ he stretched out the state name, clearly uneducated on the topic. Gilbert has heard of the state. Apparently, it was always sunny there, and the beaches were beautiful. He wondered if that was true. But the thought of asking the kid made him swallow a lump. The odd familiarity to him left Gilbert standing where he was.

Moody seemed surprised by that too, as his excitement faltered.

‘Aren’t you… going to talk to him?’

Gilbert’s eye twitched.

‘Uh, I –.’

‘Gilbert,’ Anne’s voice interrupted, startling him. He met her eyes, and found understanding. The comforting smile he was seeking for. Gilbert’s shoulders relaxed. ‘Why don’t you tell us more about your thrilling travels?’

Anne understood. Even if she didn’t know exactly what, she understood and that was all he needed. Her reserved smile said it all: I got you.

‘Of course!’, Gilbert nodded at her, ‘Well, I-‘

‘Enough chit-chat!’, mister Philips’ voice thundered throughout the classroom, silencing everyone in a heartbeat and making everyone stumble to their respective seats. Cole remained in Gilbert’s seat. The urge to scream the things at Cole he has heard Sebastian scream at colleagues was big, but he withheld himself.   
A nauseating dread filled his stomach when he realised why Cole looked so familiar. The relaxed attitude, the popularity, the loud laugh – Cole was him.   
But Cole probably wasn’t an orphan. He probably lived in a big, fancy house in the same lane of Josie and had croissants every morning as if it wasn’t a delicacy.   
It was unlike Gilbert to become jealous, but really, who the heck was he anyway after everything he went through?

‘Gilbert?’, mister Philips said, taking Gilbert out of his revelation. Everyone looked at him, but he forgot to care. ‘Great to have you back, but please take a seat. There’s still place…,’ Philips’ eyes roamed the back where the oldest kids now sat. ‘Next to Fredrick.’

Fredrick, known by everyone as Fred, smiled at him as he placed his slate on the last desk. They’ve played tag when they were little, but now had no relation to one another. Gilbert liked it that way. His eyes drifted to the bench where Prissy Andrews used to sit, but it was taken by other girls. He frowned. Was she gone? He faintly remembered her wanting to go study. Maybe she got in?

As he looked forward to mister Philips beginning his lesson of trade, he realised he was yet again two desks behind Anne, having a perfect view of the profile of her pretty face. She caught his eye, her lips tugging upwards before looking in front of her again determinedly.

Gilbert grinned. Definitely an improvement from ignoring his silly attempts at attention.

*

‘Before I let you out for lunch,’ Philips said, ‘I have some impor- _Charlotte_!,’ he yelled the name, glaring at the girl who had been talking. She cowered in her seat. The man smiled satisfied.   
‘As I was saying, I have some _important_ ,’ he stared pointedly at her, ‘news. I will be transferred to another school in close proximity to Redmond College.’

Gossip arose in the classroom, concealed as innocent murmurings.

‘I bet because he and Prissy Andrews are having sex,’ Fred whispered. The boy in front of them giggled. 

‘Silence!’, Philips screamed, ‘As of tomorrow, there’ll be a new teacher. It will be the first time she stood in front of teenagers, so be kind to her. I expect you to be respectful.’

The girl’s side buzzed with excitement. ‘He said “her”!’, was heard at every desk. Girls were clapping their hands in joy, wide-eyed and nervous. Gilbert was surprised too. A female teacher? He didn’t know those exist. But if she was anything of Anne’s calibre, he was sure she’d be great.

‘And what’s her name? It must be a marvellous one!,’ Anne blurted out. She bit her lip in anticipation. Gilbert couldn’t help but stare at it.

Philips rolled his eyes, but Anne seemed unbothered. ‘Miss Stacey.’

Anne sighed, only loud enough for the back rows to hear. ‘Enchanting.’

‘Now,’ Philips clapped his hands, regaining the attention, ‘scatter! Go get your lunch!’

The room exploded, girls yelling at their friends all the way in the front or on the boy’s side. Boys pushing one another to get out first. Gilbert remained seated for a while, waiting for the craze to slither out of the classroom. He wasn’t the only one. Most of the older kids held back whilst the younger ones skidded outside. The first soccer ball flew through the air in the meadow.

Gilbert observed Cole’s sauntering steps as he went outside. Ruby, Tilly, Jane, Fred and Charlie on his tail. Billy scoffed at the image, turning around in his chair to talk to Josie and his friends. Gilbert’s curiosity couldn’t take it anymore. He stood up, following the group of Cole. He _had_ to meet him. Cole was magnetic, something he used to be.

‘Hello,’ Gilbert said, stopping in front of the group that was seated at the stream. Cole was the first to smile at him, his hair seemingly on fire. ‘I’m Gilbert.’

‘Hello, I’m Cole. This is Ruby, and –,’

‘I know who they are,’ Gilbert interrupted him. It came out rude, which was unlike him, but envy had taken the upper hand.

‘Oh,’ Cole mumbled, looking down. Gilbert immediately felt guilty.

‘Uh, yeah. I just,’ he caught the gazes of the others for a second. He may know them, but they looked at him like he was stranger. ‘I wanted to introduce myself. Have a good lunch,’ Gilbert forced out a smile, quickly turning around.   

‘Thank you,’ Fred and Cole said at the same time. They busted out in laughter, Ruby, Tilly, Jane and Charlie joining them.

Gilbert scratched the back of his head, feeling lost. His friends weren’t his friends anymore. Except Moody, but he was playing soccer with the younger kids. Maybe he could sit with Diana and Anne? Or was he crossing a line?

Speaking of the girls, Diana appeared at the doorstep, eyes flitting over the schoolyard. Her eyes stopped at him, brightening. She waved at him to come over. Gilbert grinned.   
‘Hey, Diana’

‘Hey, Gilbert. Anne wants to talk to you.’

He furrowed his brows. Not only was he surprised by Diana’s abruptness, but also by the message itself. Anne wanted to talk to him? Why couldn’t she tell him herself? Or was she too embarrassed? Maybe it was a girl-thing, having a messenger. Or it was an Anne-thing, which was the most plausible.    

‘Is something wrong?’, he asked.

Diana ignored his question, gently grabbing his wrist and pulling him to side of the school, in the direction of the youngsters classrooms.

‘No,’ she eventually said, stopping in front of the storage room. The curtain was closed. Gilbert’s confusion grew, why would he talk with Anne here?

‘Or, well,’ she smiled, ‘I think there is. And I think you and Anne should fix that,’ Diana nodded to the storage room with poise.

Gilbert may be intelligent, but he was at a loss. What was Diana getting at?

Lost in thought, he hadn’t realised that Diana, who was known as a serene, young woman, slammed the door open, pushed him inside with all her might, and locked it. Stumbling inside, he nearly bumped into Anne, who stared back at him in complete shock. Her blue eyes looked wider than ever.

Just as he was about to crack a grin, Anne aggressively rolled her eyes and groaned loudly, stomping towards the door and banging on it loudly.

‘Diana! My dearest kindred spirit if you don’t open this door right this instant I will,’ her voice rose, yet paused as she thought of a punishment, ‘Well, I wouldn’t do anything to you since you are my bosom friend after all but,’ she huffed, ‘Diana! Open the door!’

No sound came from the other side, Gilbert assumed she must’ve left. Who would’ve thought that the Diana Barry had a centimetre of rebellion in her. 

‘Diana!’, Anne screamed in agony. We couldn’t help but laugh quietly at her dramatics. Anne hasn’t changed one bit.

The girl whirled around, braids slapping her side as she faced him, glaring, ‘Why in name of everything wonderfully bizarre are you laughing? We’re locked in! By _Diana Barry_!,’ she took a few steps towards him, ‘I never thought she had it in her,’ Anne crossed her arms, a sudden laugh escaping her, ‘Miss Barry was right. I _am_ a bad influence.’

Gilbert could imagine her being a “bad influence”, Anne may be intelligent, but she was impulsive. He liked that, but perhaps a mum did not.

‘Diana said you wanted to talk to me… I guess that’s not true?,’ he brought an easy smile onto his face, masking the slight disappointment he felt. What had he honestly expected from this?

Her face, which was pointed at the floor with a frown, looked up to him. It was then Gilbert realised how close they were standing in the small space, and how little room there was to move. It was littered with old and broken school supplies, heaps of books and boxes of chalk. Where Anne was standing closest to the door, Gilbert was standing just two feet apart from her. Immediately behind him was a closet.     
Anne seemed to realise it too, as she awkwardly broke eye contact with him, staring into nothingness.

‘That is indeed incorrect, Gilbert,’ the formality of her words seemed haphazard. ‘I don’t know what Diana was thinking. I mean I know what she is thinking but-’, she met Gilbert’s eyes again, a blush appearing on her pale skin, ‘it… it certainly has _nothing_ to do with you! At all! I just,’

‘Anne,’ Gilbert took a step towards her, lips set into a thin line. The fact that she wasn’t as eloquent as she usually was worried him. Maybe this was exactly the reason why Diana pushed him inside. Anne’s eyes widened as he advanced towards her, but he couldn’t help but notice a small smile edge at her lips. His eyes scrutinised the movement, challenged by her amusement.

‘It’s honestly nothing, Gilbert!’, she choked out.

‘Anne.’ He stepped closer. She didn’t move away. Anne didn’t look scared, more so anticipating his next move.   
Without asking, his arms enveloped her frozen body, placing his head on her shoulder. He was a head taller, but it was comfortable nonetheless.

‘I’ve missed you,’ he confessed, repeating her words she had said oh so many months ago. Back when times were simpler and he wasn’t traumatised and she hadn’t lost Matthew. He expected her to pull back, scold him for touching a girl without consent, yet she didn’t. Anne’s hands found a way around his back, tightening the hold. She pressed her face in his chest, sighing.

‘and I’m sorry about Matthew…’, he whispered, afraid to hurt her if it was said too loud.  

‘He wouldn’t want you feeling sorry,’ Anne mumbled, her lips moving against his jacket. It made his heart race. She was so close. If she’d tilt her head upwards he could kiss her and the thought alone made his mind go blank and haywire all at the same time. The effect Anne had on him was undeniable.

He slowly pulled back, leaving his hands on her arms a second longer than necessary, but she didn’t seem to mind. Anne even looked slightly disappointed by the loss of contact, but he wasn’t about to get his hopes up. Gilbert smiled gingerly, tugging at her braid that had gotten messed up by the hug.

‘Of course _you’d_ mess up my hairstyle, Gilbert. You’re an idiot,’ Anne said, smiling. Her eyes shone a bit brighter than before. Anne looked beautiful. Gilbert realised it wasn’t an observation, but a fact. The sky was blue, dogs were mammals, Anne was gorgeous.

‘You’re not an inch better than I am, Anne,’ he smirked, feeling his confidence rise.

Her mouth fell open, yet no retort came out. He smile widened, and after a while, she smiled back.

His chest felt warm.

‘But that question in class? I’m actually _dying_ to hear about your travels! Can I request it in a third person narrative? With a different intonation for every character? That would be lovely,’ her voice croaked in delight. That hopeful smile would make him do anything.

And he did, with flair that could compete with Anne’s usual dramatics, he recounted the adventurous story. Every once in a while, he added a pirate or a knight, just to see her gasp or bite her lip with excitement.

‘I would’ve loved to meet James and Sebastian! They seem like such kind people!’, she gushed, boldly placing her hand on his forearm.

Gilbert smiled, nostalgic, ‘They are.’

Anne went quiet, eyes softening as her eyes roved his face. A breathless smile left her lips, as if she’d just ran a mile. The easy atmosphere shifted, the stillness of the moment hanging in the air like a candle in the night, the flickering slowly building.  
Her arm slowly slipped off his arm, brushing his fingertips, their gazes unwavering.

The door busted open, them immediately flying apart as if they were caught doing something terrible, showing a cheeky, yet slightly guilty, Diana with a rusted key in her hand. The rebellion lifestyle must’ve been new to her.

Anne marched towards her, grabbing her hand. ‘Diana, we need to talk. _Now_.’

Gilbert watched them go, a ridiculous smile on his face. He couldn’t believe what just happened. In just twenty minutes, Anne and Gilbert made up, going back to where they were right before he left, and even better! He knew that this was a remarkable moment, maybe even the start of something he had only dreamt of.

The bell rang, and Gilbert went back to class with a spring in his step.              

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any expectations for upcoming chapters? Tell me in the comments :)


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert adapts back into his normal life, and Anne makes an interesting discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for not updating for more than two months. I don't think anyone cares for an explanation?  
> A few things to keep in mind when reading this chapter:  
> \- This chapter takes place over the course of two days.  
> \- It's heavy on shirbert but it's not about shirbert.  
> \- I've intensively studied upon the (in)significance of birthdays in the early 20th century, but if I made mistakes, my apologies. Culture differs everywhere. 
> 
> edited + not beta-ed

The only sound heard in the Blythe household that Sunday morning, was Gilbert’s sharpener scratching against the graphite pencil. He hadn’t touched his pencils in months, as he didn’t think he’d need it on the docks. But three months in and he started to crave the feeling of sketch paper against the pads of his fingers. That morning, he dug up his materials and decided to enjoy the morning with his creativity. It helped his mind to deviate from the sad thoughts that clouded his mind. As the warm wind that came out of the open window caressed his skin, he opened his eyes. The first stroke of graphite found its way onto the nervy paper.

Miss Stacey made her introduction on Thursday morning. She was around thirty, he deducted, had dark brown hair that was up in a casual bun and seemed to always smile. It unnerved him in the beginning, but she meant well. He wasn’t sure she taught better than Philips, but at least she gave the girls a fair chance and didn’t tut her lips at Anne when she got excited.

He pressed his pencil harder onto the paper, smudging the harsh line out with his finger to add shadows to the face. He smiled satisfied: he hasn’t lost his abilities yet. Gilbert’s eyes fell on the rusted clock above the stove, indicating it was nearly time to leave for work. His smile broadened, warm excitement buzzing in his stomach.   
With no money left, it left Gilbert no choice but to work again. Moody had offered him a place to stay, as well as the mum of Diana, but he refused both. It wouldn’t feel right, in his opinion. He didn’t owe them anything, and they just gave him a place to stay? No. After months of hard labour, Gilbert learned you had to work to have something. Capitalism was brutal, but he wasn’t the one to change that.   
Work found him quite quickly, much to his pleasure. In town, he found an advertisement to work at none other than Green Gables, the home of Anne. After Matthew became sick, they had a stroke of luck with their crops in spring. But with only Jerry being the help, they couldn’t manage it alone. That’s where he came in.

Gilbert’s hand slipped, creating an ugly line across the cheekbone. He huffed, grabbing his used-to-be-eraser and trying to wipe it away. His eyes flicked to the clock once again, aggravated that time was moving quickly. He wanted to get the drawing done before he had to leave!

Working on the Green Gables farm was nothing compared to life on the docks. It was almost relaxing – almost, as the fact that Anne was only 300 feet away kept him on edge. Knowing she could barge into the farmhouse or stomp through the land and talk to him… Gilbert shook his head, trying to focus again on the drawing.   
The first time they interacted whilst he was working, was on his first day. He was in the farmhouse, collecting hay on the first floor, when she walked in, ignorant of his presence.

‘Jerry?’, she had called from ground floor. Her voice had been frail, like a silver thread glistening in the sun, escaping your fingers every time because of the fragility.  
Gilbert remained silent. He _should’ve_ said his name, but something held him back. Maybe boyish curiosity that hadn’t died down yet, or… – there was no other reason, he now realised.   
Suddenly, a song had spouted from her lips, loud and melodious. Her feet had tapped against the floorboard irregularly.   
Gilbert had clambered quietly, like a thief in the night, to the staircase. He _had_ to see this!   
There she stood, twirling around like ballerina. The afternoon sun made puddles of sunlight through the cracks of the wooden walls, every so often alighting her hair on fire as she danced through them. It had been down, and it never looked more beautiful.  
Her voice, however, wasn’t. But he had been too entranced to care.

The door had opened again and Jerry walked in, completely ignoring the show in front of him with a roll of the eye. A performing Anne must be a regular occurrence, he grinned.

‘Gilbert? Are you done? Marilla needs you in the chicken coop.’

Bloody hell.         

He remembered climbing down the stairs, his cheeks tainted red as Anne stood there staring at him, jaw slack and a furious pinch between her eyebrows.

He shot her an innocent smile, and her face had morphed into a troubled frown. Jerry had rolled his eyes once again. If Gilbert had still believed in little children’s tales, he’d think Jerry’s eyes would remain stuck in the back of his head.

‘Gil-!’  
‘I’ll see you at school,’ he had said easily, trying to get the hauntingly beautiful image of her out of his mind. Not that he wanted to, but purely out of self-preservation. After their intimate conversation in the school’s closet, it had been hard to deny that he simply fancied her. It was _more_. How much more, he didn’t know (nor did he dare to know), but he liked this state of somewhat friendship with her.

The day after, right before school started, Anne had apologised, hands wringing together and not really meeting his eye.

‘I apologise that you had to see my devastatingly embarrassing performance, that had not been my intention,’ then a determined glint had covered her blue eyes, ‘I _did_ call out for Jerry, and you didn’t say anything!’

Anne had probably expected a reason, but he had promptly ignored that insinuation.

‘It’s okay, Anne,’ Gilbert had shifted closer to her. He realised he’d been doing that a lot. He gravitated towards her, her an undeniable force he couldn’t get away from. It was her smile and alluring blue eyes and the way her chin was always slightly lifted. It was –

His eyes flitted to the clock, his heart immediately leaping and his feet jumping upright. He was going to be late! Gilbert shook his head, annoyed. The daydreaming wasn’t going away any time soon, it seemed. It now even interfered with work!          
He chucked his necessities in his leather satchel, faltering when he regarded the drawing in front of him. Should he bring it with him and finish on his lunch break? He bit his lip, an anxious feeling gnawing in his chest. His airy daydream was immediately gone from his mind, popped like bubble.

After another minute of staring at the drawing, he decided to leave it on the kitchen table. Sadness should be kept where it belonged, stuck in the broken pieces of his home. His eyes darted away from the sketch of his father and ran out the door.

*

‘Gilbert? Are you here?’, Anne’s light voice floated through the open field. Gilbert froze in his movements, head perking up. It was a hot day that day, and sweat was dripping of his forehead. Under his arms were unattractive pools of moist. The dark curls were matted against his forehead, heating his temples. Gilbert hastily wiped excess sweat away from his face, aggravated at himself for not thinking of bringing a clean cloth or hat.

‘Yeah,’ he straightened his back, his eyes peering over the corn that has been wildly growing these past weeks.  
Blue found green, and she smiled, her walk turning into a jog. He waited on her with patience, busying himself with the last bits of weeding. The fields had to be perfect, as Marilla didn’t want to risk anything ruining this spring’s harvest. It hurt his back, but money was money, and money made food appear on the table, so he didn’t complain.

Anne panted when she finally reached him, the sun drilling into her covered body. He assumed it was because she was a redhead, a single ray of sunlight could turn her as red as a lobster. She wiped of the sweat on her upper lip.

‘Ma-,’ she coughed, ‘Marilla wanted you to have this,’ she held up a platter which kept a loaf of bread, a blunt knife and a small jar of jam. Gilbert didn’t like berry jam, but they didn’t need to know that.  
He looked up, a wide smile framing his face. He realised Marilla gave Anne the task to bring him the food, but it made him happy nonetheless to see her.

‘Thank you,’ he took over the platter, and after a second of hesitation, placed it on the ground. That wouldn’t be a problem, right?  
‘Want to join me?’, Gilbert asked, taking his place on the ground. There wasn’t much space between the rows of corn, but it could do. Anne smiled, hopping over a misplaced rock and plopping next to him, her legs crossed.   
‘I _almost_ thought you’d shoo me away,’ she confessed, amusement lacing her voice. Anne took the knife, cutting two thick pieces.

Gilbert huffed, ‘As if I could do that, you’d find a way to sit here with a few excuses and an elaborate story.’

Anne bit back a smile, lightly punching his shoulder.

He laughed, ‘Hey!’ Anne didn’t respond, spreading out her apron to use as a plate.   
Gilbert loved the easy friendship they have fallen into, save for that awkward encounter in the beginning. They didn’t talk about anything serious, it was like the weather. Warm and easy, languid like the hot blanket that enveloped them around noon. There were moments of silence, where they looked at the sky, or closed their eyes and feel the buzzing rays of sun onto their skin. There were moments of full blown laughter, Anne throwing grass at him to retaliate and him teasingly tugging her hair. There were moments of intimacy, of whispers near rosy lips, of almost-touches.   
Gilbert always saw Anne in daylight, but he wondered from time to time what it would be like to see her at night. Would their conversations be different? Would she act differently? Not that he would ever know, Marilla had strict rules on Anne’s whereabouts.

‘Gilbert,’ she said after a moment of blissful silence. One eye opened, seeing her watching him expectantly. He murmured a “yeah”.  
‘When you left, did you find what you were looking for?’

The other eye opened. ‘What do you mean?’  
Anne’s gaze fell away from his face, fixating on the brown crumbs on her apron. She waited another minute, the rusting wind that shook the corn and strands of her hair taking the space instead. Gilbert wiped the sweat of his brow.   

‘You left, because you wanted to see this… colossal, sweeping world first. But I can only assume there’s a bigger reason behind it, no?’ She peered at him through her straw hat, awaiting his response.  
Gilbert could laugh. He has been trying to figure that out throughout his whole journey of going and coming back. Was it to find himself? Or pieces of his father? Or to just get away from everyone that reminded him of everything he knew? He still hated being at home. It was cold there, even with the stove on. Every time he entered the school building, his first instinct was to turn around and run back to Ireland. They all treated him like a stranger in the night, as if the boy he used to be was nothing but a mirage and the boy he now was a scam. He was a crook with a long scar on his stomach and people didn’t like that.   
Why did he leave to only come back to a place that only brought him pain? Every night he pondered on the thought, wondering if he hadn’t made a mistake. He had been impulsive, emotional – everything that wasn’t rational – that night in Ireland. The burly man with the protruding belly should’ve just told him to go back to bed.

‘I left because I was mad at the world,’ Gilbert said, his lips moving before his thoughts could catch up. He himself was surprised by the answer.   
‘I’m still mad,’ he confessed, his eyes finding hers, ‘but I’m trying to forgive, I guess.’  
His father for dying, his friends for not understanding, Marilla for adding grief and confusion in his heart, Matthew for making him doubt, Billy for being an asshole, Anne for being too Anne at times. He was still so _mad_ , sometimes so much that he could explode in burning tears and scorning, aching pain. The revelation of the gravity of his emotions startled him.

Anne tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear, mustering a brilliant smile. She removed her hat so he could see her expression better.    
‘That was very courageous of you to say, Gilbert. I’m sorry you’re mad… I _wish_ I could help lighten the pain,’ Anne whispered. Her fingertips crept to his, grazing them. The simple touch of comfort brought a smile to his face. It was an oddly lopsided one, distorted by almost-tears. It made her smile brighter though, fully grabbing his hand now.

‘Anne,’ he sighed, staring at their intertwined hands. If she could only feel the throbbing of his heart, where his agony was slowly swallowed by a greater power. A power he didn’t dare to name yet.   
‘You’re already doing it.’

Later that day, when the sun was casting golden shadows upon people, Gilbert and Jerry found themselves in the farmhouse. Their work was done for the day, but they enjoyed talking to each other. Jerry, because Gilbert was the only boy he interacted with aside from his younger brothers (and they were, according to Jerry, “chiant”.) and Gilbert, because Jerry was the only boy aside from Moody that didn’t treat him like an outsider.    

‘ _Je m’appelle_ ,’ Jerry enunciated slowly.   
‘ _Je m’appelle_ ,’ Gilbert repeated, his accent botched but not horrible. Jerry nodded.   
‘Gilbert.’  
‘ _Je m’appelle Gilbert_.’  
Jerry nodded again. ‘ _Très bien_.’   

Gilbert smiled. ‘What else can you learn me?’

The French boy shrugged, ‘ _Bonjour, ça va, tout à l’heure, à demain, j’adore quelque chose, j’aime quelqu’un_ , …,’ suddenly a cheeky smile crept up on his face, ‘ _Va te faire foutre, ta gueule, sois belle et tais-toi_ , …’ 

Gilbert narrowed his eyes, amused. ‘You said something bad, right?’  
Jerry’s smile widened. ‘ _Parfois_. I would not recommend saying “ _sois belle et tais-toi_ ” to Anne. She would not like that.’

Involuntarily, a shift came in Gilbert’s expression, and Jerry groaned.

‘What?’  
‘I really do not understand how you can stand all Anne’s talking for more than an hour.’  
‘Why do you say that?’  
‘Because I know _tu l’aimes_.’

Gilbert’s frown deepened. ‘What?’

Jerry pursed his lips, holding up his finger. ‘You… – _putain, qu’est-ce que le mot?_ – like her.’    

‘I don’t.’

‘Right,’ Jerry replied, ‘and Anne never uses big words.’

Gilbert placed his hands behind him, gripping the hay he was sitting on. Was it that obvious? He hadn’t outwardly said it though. Gilbert figured there was no point in denying it to Jerry.

‘Don’t tell her.’

A victorious smirk framed the boy’s face. ‘I will not. But when you tell her, please take her on many _rendez-vous_. The less she’s here, the less she can annoy me.’

Gilbert laughed, the sound echoing through the building. Jerry was truly one of a kind.

*

The next day, early Monday morning, Gilbert waited patiently at the intersection where Anne and him met up. A year ago, he would’ve walked to school alone, cool and confident, but now he needed that support. Anne on one side, Diana on the other – it helped.

Speaking of the girls, Anne was the first to arrive. He saw her from the distance, Anne not realising he was there yet. He saw her lips move though, Gilbert frowned, did she talk to herself?   
Suddenly, Anne’s eyes shot up, saw him and began sprinting towards him.

Gilbert’s eyes widened in alarm, the vision in front of him flashing back to a medic slipping on deck, the sky clouded and grey and rain drumming into the wood.  
Instinctively he took a step back.

Calm down, he reassured himself, calm down. It’s just Anne. He clenched his fists, demanding himself to calm down.

‘Gilbert!’

He opened his eyes, Anne unaware of his the anxiety that clogged his throat and chest. A bright, wide-eyed look adorned her features. He calmed down a little.

‘Y-yeah?’

She pointed her finger at him accusingly, it shaking in excitement. ‘It’s almost your birthday! How dare you not tell me! Not even a simple, vapid birthday, but your sixteenth birthday! Very monumental, if you ask me. It’s a rite of passage! It’s…’, Anne was buzzing with excitement, ‘I’m too excited to find a word.’

Gilbert smirked, ‘You’ve used plenty.’

Anne rolled her eyes. Gilbert’s smile disappeared. How much he liked seeing Anne happy, the subject behind her happiness, did not please him.     

‘How did you find out?’, he asked. It wasn’t supposed to come out rude, but the words left his lips harshly, a frown etched in his forehead.

Anne’s shoulders dropped. Her lips moved, but no words came out.  
‘Uh, I – Marilla told me.’

‘And why does she think she can celebrate it?’, his jaw clenched. He didn’t want a birthday. He’d rather just ignore it, stuff it away. A birthday was arbitrary in the grand scheme of things, simply unneeded. A birthday celebrated the day he was born, but the people that placed him on this earth weren’t even here anymore. He hardly remembered his mum anymore.

‘She – I don’t – Gilbert,’ Anne exhaled slowly, closing her eyes momentarily, ‘what’s wrong?’

Gilbert slowly unclenched his hands, realising he was still tense from the memory on the ship. It’s not her making him feel mad, he reminded himself, it’s not her. It’s the past and his stupid birthday.

‘I – sorry. That wasn’t… nice of me,’ Gilbert replied earnestly. Anne remained silent, urging him to continue.

‘I just don’t want it to be a big deal, my birthday. It’s just a birthday. No one really celebrates it.’

‘Yes, but, like I said, it’s a rite of passage. When you’re sixteen, you’re finally viewed as a man –‘, Anne bursted out into a laugh, ‘As if you’re one.’

Gilbert narrowed his eyes in amusement, the worry slowly fading, ‘Very funny, Anne.’

She shook her head, ‘The history behind it is very extensive and rich. It goes back to medieval Europe, when girls were handed to men when they were eligible. Or even to the Aztecs, who had the same concept but it was in Middle-America. The boys wanted a festivity like that too, so they created the same for men. It’s popularity keeps growing, celebrating a birthday that is, not the marrying thing. I mean, Prissy Andrews married Philips and she’s seventeen but it’s more of a rarity nowadays,’ she scrunched her nose, ‘Actually, how old is he?’

Gilbert cocked his head, ‘I don’t think it matters.’

Anne wringed her hands together, ‘Gilbert, you don’t have to tell me why you don’t want a birthday, but Marilla and Rachel are really excited to start baking. Just see it as… as a pleasant afternoon at Green Gables, eating cake with me and Diana and whoever you like! We won’t even mention the word! What word? I wouldn’t know! It’s officially banned from my exhaustive vocabulary,’ Anne exclaimed in a resolute manner, with wild hand gestures and pleading eyes.

With every word, Gilbert’s smile widened. Anne _really_ , truly cared. It still astounded him how nice it is to be friends with Anne. He always dreamt of it, but it as a whole other experience to actually be involved. She cared, and it was the only thing he could ask from her.

‘Thank you,’ Gilbert whispered. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw Diana running towards them. They were probably horribly late.

‘Of course.’

‘Sorry I’m late! Minnie May was being very annoying,’ Diana complained, giving Anne a hug and Gilbert a soft pat on his arm. Diana’s eyes showed guilt, ‘Miss Stacey won’t be mad, will she?’

Anne bit her lip. ‘It will be fine. She can’t punish three students all at once, right?’  
The girls gave each other a look, which to Gilbert seemed like an unspoken language that passed through them. Then, seemingly adamant on making a good impression, they simultaneously grabbed his arms and dragged him forward. Gilbert laughed.

They were lucky. A minute before the bell rang, they ran into the school building. Everyone was already seated, but miss Stacey hasn’t. She must be talking to another teacher at the youngsters classroom. Diana noticeably exhaled in relief, dragging Anne to their table. It was on the brink of summer, so they didn’t need to wear coats. Good, or else they’d been late.

‘Good morning class,’ miss Stacey came in with a confident trot. Her brown locks were down, and all the girls stared at her in shock. Even a few of the boys, including Gilbert, were surprised. Women older than eighteen _never_ wore their hair down in public.  
‘Is that a new fashion thing or something?’, Fred whispered. Gilbert shrugged.

The teacher noticed their stares, consciously touching her hair. ‘Oh. Right. I was speaking at a women’s rights club at the town house. But that’s not important right now,’ she waved the statement away dismissively. Gilbert looked at Anne, purely out of habit, and saw her staring at miss Stacey with adoration. He smiled.

‘Everyone, take your slates, we’re starting with geometry.’  

Anne caught Gilbert’s eye, narrowing playfully at the inside joke. He pointed at himself victoriously and she stuck her tongue out. Gilbert smirked. 

After a long day of school, filled with geometry and new literature, Moody, Diana, Gilbert and Anne made their way to the forest. It has become common for them to hang out before they left to go home. Whereas it was rebellious act for Diana, it was a need for Gilbert. The less he’s alone, the less his thoughts can swallow him and lead him to an abyss of darkness, a darkness he can’t seem to shake off.   
Another thing that he liked about them hanging out: it was in a tree. After Anne had boasted about her tree-climbing abilities, Moody had challenged her, which resulted in Diana and Gilbert, the rational ones, to also get up there to lead them down. It didn’t work. Eventually, Diana started to enjoy the thrill of being so high up and Gilbert joined in on the happy feeling.   

‘Okay,’ Anne clapped her hands excitedly, ‘Do I have everyone’s attention?,’ the rest nodded, she smiled satisfied.  
‘I want to host a party!’  
Moody brought a smile to his face, and Diana clapped her hands excitedly. Gilbert froze. What was she doing? Eight hours ago she promised him to not even mention the word!

‘How wonderful!,’ Diana  gushed, ‘what’s the occasion, Anne?’

Anne’s eyes flitted to Gilbert for a split second, but Gilbert caught it.

‘No occasion,’ she smiled, ‘Simply celebrating our great lives extracted from woe. And it’s summer! How can you not celebrate such an amazing shift in nature!?’, Anne exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. Nearly losing balance, she clamped her hands around the thick branch. Diana chuckled.

‘That sounds fun!’, replied Moody, his gaze falling onto Gilbert to see how he reacted. He stared back at his friend, not really thinking about Moody but about the fact that Anne tactfully removed the situation from him. God, he liked her.

A lot.

‘Hm?’, he blinked.

‘What do you think, Gilbert?’, Moody asked. Diana and Anne stared at him.

‘Oh, yeah, uh –,’ his gaze fell on Anne, sending her a brilliant smile. He simply could not hide his emotions. Anne’s cheeks turned red, eyes widening. A shy smile grazed her features.

He liked her. A lot.

‘It’s a great idea,’ he directed it again to Moody. Diana smiled at him knowingly (what she knew, he didn’t know) and turned back to Anne, clasping her hands.

‘What can we do to help?’

Anne flipped back into her role as the organiser. ‘Right! Well, Rachel and Marilla are making the treats, but you can always bring your own things if you’d like. There’s never enough tea! Oh, invites!’ The girl turned to Moody and Gilbert. ‘You can invite whoever you want. Except for Billy and Josie. They’re…’, Anne’s nose scrunched up, ‘Diana, is there a proper word to describe their behaviour?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’

Anne tutted her lips. ‘They can be… mean.’    

Moody nodded solemnly, ‘Understood. Billy ditched me, anyway.’

Gilbert perked up in surprise from his airy daydream, ‘He did?’

Moody shrugged. Gilbert clenched his hands. What a bloody –

Anne clapped her hands in excitement, now pressing her legs against the branch as to not fall. Diana shrieked when a squirrel suddenly jumped between the group.

‘Wow,’ the two girls said simultaneously.

‘Uh,’ Anne frowned, ‘what did I want to say? Right!,’ she wiggled her eyebrows at Diana, ‘maybe we can even swap the raspberry cordial for currant wine.’

Diana gasped, ‘Anne, we can’t!’

Anne sighed, ‘We can only imagine and dream, Diana. The scope of our imagination should be broadened.’

Smiling, Gilbert said, ‘I think yours already reaches the Atlantic Ocean.’  
The group laughed as Anne turned redder. Not knowing how to retort, she punched his shoulder.

Diana gasped, ‘Oh my, the time! I have to go, my mum will kill me if Minnie May ratted me out!’, swiftly, she jumped from branch to branch until she reached the ground. If there was something admirable about Diana, it was her grace.

‘Bye boys! Bye Anne!’, she yelled, ruffling the leaves out of her perfectly coiffed hair.

‘Bye my bosom friend!’, Anne yelled back melodramatically, clutching her chest. Moody rolled his eyes at her antics. Diana disappeared from their view.

‘Hey Gilbert,’ Moody said, ‘how are the girls in Ireland, actually?’, his eyes glinted.   
Gilbert felt Anne stiffen next to him. Was she bothered by the question? He’d rather not dwell on the question, but was it really so bad to hope? He remembered his dad liking her, why can’t he hope that his father approved of her because he knew Gilbert and her…  
He blinked.

‘I didn’t talk to anyone but the guys on the docks.’

Moody’s shoulders dropped with disappointment. ‘Boring,’ he taunted.   
Gilbert shrugged, ‘They’re taller than here, and –,’

‘Can we please not discuss the female body when you have a girl sitting right here!’, Anne demanded, her lips pursed in a way she could have only learned from miss Cuthbert.

‘Right,’ Moody smiled remorsefully, ‘sorry Anne.’

‘Boys are ridiculous sometimes,’ she muttered.  
An idea surged through Gilbert and without thinking, he boldly placed his arm over her shoulder, ‘Are we really?’

Anne’s jaw fell slack, flabbergasted by the action. A breathless sigh left her lips. She was stunned, he concluded grinning. If it was any other boy, Gilbert knew, she’d throw their hand of her shoulder. After a long second, she bended forward, making his arm drop. Moody’s eyes were fixated on Gilbert, eyebrows raised in surprise. Gilbert merely smirked.

‘Yes, Gilbert,’ she replied stiffly, her head raised in a haughty fashion. ‘Especially _you_. You’re number one.’  

‘I’m flattered,’ he retorted.

‘Moody!’, someone yelled from the ground. Three heads looked down, viewing Moody’s younger sister, Ella.   
‘Get down! You’re supposed to bring me home!’

Moody groaned annoyed. ‘Can’t you walk alone?’  
Ella smiled back at him in a devilish manner. ‘You don’t want mother to find out, do you?’   
The boy immediately reacted to that response, jumping down in three steps, nearly falling onto his butt. Diana might had to teach him a thing or two.

‘See you tomorrow, Moody,’ Anne saluted him. Gilbert did the same.   
‘Bye guys!’

The second Moody was out of sight, Anne turned to Gilbert.

‘How dare you-‘  
‘Are we really going to fight about this?’, Gilbert teased.   
Anne pursed her lips. ‘I guess not. But in the future, you should ask before doing something so foolish. You almost act like me, with my impulsivity and red hair!’

‘I like your red hair,’ Gilbert blurted, but with pure honesty. Anne’s lips clamped shut.   
‘Oh.’

It stayed silent for a moment. Gilbert looked at his hands, worried he said the wrong thing. He more so felt annoyed that he even had to think if he said the wrong thing. All this worrying felt exhausting. Actively, he searched for another topic to talk about. Anything.

‘Do you know I like drawing?’

Anne’s head shot up, her eyes meeting him in a pleasant surprise.

‘You do? Are you any good?’

Gilbert shrugged, happy to have found the right subject. ‘I’m not bad. Wait.’ He opened his satchel that was resting on his lap and grabbed his journal. It was small, and bounded it brown leather.

Anne snatched it from his hands, starting to flip through it. His heart leaped, alarmed. The letters he wrote to her, those were all still there! Gilbert wasn’t one to get embarrassed easily, but he was nearly certain he’d die if she found out. He slammed the book shut as it was in her hands. Startled, she jumped up.

‘Why did you do that?’

‘This is also my journal,’ he explained, trying to remain calm. The warmth he felt glazing his cheeks gave him away though. Her doe eyes stared back at him, trying to understand. The bright blue of her irises made it harder for him to keep talking, especially now as the sun was slowly setting, casting golden flecks in her eyes.

‘With your private thoughts and emotions,’ she slowly finished for him, comprehending. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s okay,’ he said hastily. He started at the end of the notebook, flipping through the pages to find his most recent drawings. The first was a sketch of Sebastian.

‘This is Sebastian.’

Anne gasped, taking the journal from him and scrutinised the drawing. Even though she wasn’t an artist, he did value her opinion, which made his hands a little clammy. No one has ever seen his drawings. Not even his father.

‘I love it,’ she whispered, a finger caressing the paper, the outline of his face. ‘Was Sebastian black? You can tell by his features.’

‘Yeah.’

‘I’ve never met a black person before,’ she confessed, then looking up at him. ‘It’s very realistic, Gilbert. It seems like you’ve frozen time and placed him in this journal, it’s just so… sharp! Do you have more?’

Her. And his father. But he wasn’t ready to show her that.

‘Uh, no. My other drawings are in another book.’

Anne’s shoulders dropped, but immediately lightened again. ‘You can show me at the “celebration for summer”-party,’ she wiggled her eyebrows.  
Gilbert laughed, ‘Right. Thank you for fibbing.’   
The girl shrugged, ‘If Diana ever finds out, she’ll understand.’ A beam of light blinded Anne for a second, and she gasped.

‘The sun! I have to go! If I’m at Green Gables when it’s dark…,’ Anne paled.   
‘Let’s go then.’

They hopped of the tree branches, safely landing on the ground. In the distance, they saw miss Stacey lock the school building. They were the only ones still out, the rustling wind and squeaky chirps of the birds as their friends. Gilbert liked the almost-silence.

‘You’re still fine with the party, right?’, Anne asked, swallowing visibly. She stepped faster to catch up to his pace. Their intersection was coming into view.

‘If it makes everyone happy…’  
Anne stopped him by grabbing his elbow, ‘But will it make you happy?’

Gilbert turned to her, frowning. She was genuinely worried.

‘Anne-‘

‘Be honest.’

His eyes roved her face, hoping she truly meant what she said. Carefully, he placed his hands on her slender arms. Her eyebrows rose up in surprise, a red blush tainting her skin.

Gilbert clenched his jaw, before releasing it and saying earnestly, ‘If you’re there, than it will.’

Anne let out a breathless, shaky smile. She seemed troubled by what he said. He swallowed, had he gone too far? His hands fell of her arms, but before they could get back to his side, she grabbed them tightly.

‘Your – the party will be marvellous, I can promise you that.’

With that, she dropped his fingers and turned around, not once looking back as Gilbert watched her go.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's pray the last chapter will come in a few days/weeks lol


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The four prepare for the “Summer Soiree” and Gilbert confronts his emotions (all of them).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fuck dude. this is it. tHe FINALE!  
> It took some time, but here we are. PLEASE READ THE NOTES AT THE END 
> 
> Enjoy :)

When John was still alive and on steady feet, Gilbert and him often went on walks. It was their “thing”, Gilbert thought. The trails were never adventurous nor remotely exciting, but it was nice. They never talked, (“Speech is silver, silence is golden,” John used to say, “Unless they’re talking a load of bollocks. Especially then, Gilbert, remember that.”), simply the rustling of the wind as the music that filled the gaps in between their steps.  
As Gilbert walked home from school that Thursday afternoon, he realised he missed those walks. And the silence. He found it was entirely different being with someone in silence, and being alone and silent. At least with his father, there was the _possibility_ of talking, whereas now, he couldn’t.

Gilbert stopped in his tracks, breath clamped between his ribs. He furrowed his brows, scrutinising the ground with intense focus.

No, it couldn’t be.

He let out a breathy sigh, trying to keep his emotions at bay. Now was not the right time (it was never, really, but he’d rather not admit it), he had better things to do. Make dinner, do his homework, figure out what he wants to bring to the Summer Soiree.

A smile managed to find his way onto his face. The Summer Soiree. Anne had given the party it’s title since “celebration for summer”-party was a little too long. Gilbert actually had quite high hopes for it, as the progressions so far had been successful. Diana and Anne had created pretty invitations and sent them to everyone who was invited, including to him and Moody albeit them being in on the plan. It currently laid on his dinner table, proud and centre. It was just so _them_ , that it brought light to his depressing home.  
Moody, on the other hand, had busied himself in stealing a bottle of currant wine from his parent’s hidden cellar. They were supposedly against alcohol, but everyone could smell the breath of miss Spurgeon. They were going to fill it in an inconspicuous bottle and sneak it around when the Cuthbert’s weren’t looking. Gilbert’s smile broadened.  
In those three days of preparation, Gilbert came by once to Green Gables to thank them for lending their space. Unsurprisingly, Rachel Lynde was also there, gushing about all the treats Marilla and her would be making. All sorts of puddings, tarts, hearty dishes and potato salad. Another thing to look forward to, Gilbert chuckled: an actual good meal.  
The boy rounded the corner, the Blythe household coming into view. Out of his peripheral vision, the family cemetery struck his eye, but he kept moving forward.

Then there was Anne. Anne, who at times whispered with Diana in a corner and once he came into view, would smile cheekily and disperse. She had something up her sleeve, he just hoped he would like it. There was a constant lingering fear at the back of his mind that it would be revealed the party was for his birthday. He didn’t want the attention or the pity or – whatever.

Gilbert jumped on the steps to his porch and opened the creaking door in a swift motion. Wind breezed inside, ruffling the nervy papers on the dinner table, letting some fall on the ground like feathers. He froze, letting the door fall shut behind him. No more wind, no more sound. Just silence. But alone.  
His eyes roved over the papers, trying to will himself to move his feet and pick up the drawings. They were just drawings, Gilbert chanted to himself, a piece of paper stained with graphite.  
Calm down. Calm down.  
Calm.  
Down!

It didn’t work. As his shaking hands tried to pick up the dozen’s of drawings of his father he made around 2 AM, tears began to spill from his eyes. He wiped them away angrily.

‘Stop crying,’ he whispered to himself, aggravated by his thick voice. Gilbert dropped the drawings, backing into a wall and clenching his fists with all his might, feeling his short nails pressing painfully into his callous flesh. His head hurt like hell, thoughts and emotions yelling at him, commanding his attention.

He couldn’t – he didn’t – he wasn’t –

Gilbert screamed. Gilbert screamed until his throat burned and ached and was choked up with tears. He screamed again after that, this time even louder. It felt almost cathartic: the anger that coursed through his veins and seeped like scorching fire into his bones was overwhelming and alluring at the same time.      
He lowered himself on the cold ground, placing his hands on his neck. Gilbert hated that his lower lip wobbled.  
Taking a shaky breath, he closed his eyes, trying to ignore the pouncing headache behind his eyes. You are okay, Gilbert said to himself, but before his thought was even complete he knew it was a lie. He was done pretending to be happy with his friends and done pretending he was getting better when clearly, those singular moments of bliss were never sustainable. Gone in a snap, slipping out of his fingers like thread.

Opening one eye, he stared at the window that blasted the white, afternoon sun in his face. Gilbert blinked, his body feeling like bricks. Soundless, he stood up and walked out of the door again, not bothering to close it.

With resolute steps Gilbert found his way to the family cemetery, a little graveyard enclosed with an iron gate that had ivy creep on the edges. Gilbert sat on the stone bench, staring at the graves of his family members. His great grand parents whom he never knew were first in line. His grandparents, Mary and Alfred, laid next to them. His mum’s grave stood crooked, Madison and Elizabeth had engraved pieces of metal hammered in the ground.  
John’s grave stood in front of all, mocking Gilbert with its shiny cross, reminding him how fresh it still was.                 

‘Dad,’ Gilbert gripped his knees, ‘I don’t know what to do. I really need you here right now. I…,’ tears started to well up the longer he stared at the glimmering cross. ‘I miss you and I don’t – I don’t know how to do this. Being here. Because you’re everywhere! And it’s…’, the hands of his knees ball into fists.  
‘I just want to go. What’s the point of being here if I expect you to just wake up,’ Gilbert clenched his jaw, seeking words.

‘Dad, I’m –  I’m so… sad all the time and I just want it to be over with and I just,’ his voice cracked, ‘I just really need you here. I have friends, like Anne, helping me but,’ Gilbert shook his head.

Finally, he looked up, ‘Remember those walks? We were always… quiet. But now I wish we talked because I don’t remember your voice and it’s...’

Gilbert didn’t know how to continue. It hurt to talk and everything he said didn’t feel good enough for his dad to hear. (Did he even hear Gilbert? Was Heaven even a real concept? With miss Stacey talking about new discoveries in the scientific field, he wasn’t so sure about it anymore.) It all felt like a big, fat lie.

Gilbert wanted to escape for just a second. For just… a moment. Where time stopped and he could breathe and think and not mourn and not be sad and just feel alive for once and not feel vigilant all the time and so, _so_ angry. It was maddening.

‘Dad.’

A breeze hit his curls, and for a moment he liked to fantasise that was his father. He’d let himself have this.

‘I’ll leave Avonlea again, because it hurts being here. But when the time comes, I won’t be walking alone. I’m done with silence.’

The wind died down, making it able for him to inhale deeply and stand up, releasing his clenched hands. With one last glance at the shiny cross, he turned his head back to the opened front door. A stray drawing had followed him outside and was now rustling on the porch. It was one of John when he was young, around 18. Gilbert had made it with a picture as reference. John was skinny back then, with Gilbert’s smile and a top hat. Gingerly, the boy picked it up, stepping inside.

As moonlight casted shadows from the tree branches through his window, Gilbert was eating dinner whilst flipping through his journal. He has placed all the drawings back in the notebook as to not lose them. At first he wanted to throw them all away, but he knew that when he was older and couldn’t move his limbs anymore, he’d appreciate those little things.  
Thumbing back to the front, the letters to Anne caught his eye. There were dozens of them, some just two sentences, other’s filled an entire page. A few described his adventures, but most were about his thoughts that kept lingering on her mesmerising hair and alluring blue eyes. It was almost embarrassing reading them back, but Gilbert realised it was all still true. His feelings hadn’t changed but rather grown. Anne seemed to like him too, platonically, at least. Every chance he got he worked at the Cuthbert’s, and every single time she was there to hold him company. It clicked.

As if his fingers had a mind of its own, Gilbert ripped the twenty pages out of his notebook in one neat motion. He folded them neatly and placed it in the pocket of his trousers. It was inexplicable, but he felt like he had to do it.   

*

The last time Gilbert felt as refreshed as he did today was more than a year ago, before his dad’s sickness even surfaced. After he impulsively had ripped his letters out of the journal, he went to sleep without waking up once. Maybe it’s because he finally talked to his dad, but he felt awake for once. The spring in Gilbert’s step was undeniable and he just felt _good_.  

For a change, he wasn’t the first at the intersection. Anne and Diana were talking with each other in an excited manner and Gilbert couldn’t help but smile at the sight. What these two had was special.  
Diana’s the first to notice him. ‘Oh, Gilbert’s here! Hello, Gilbert!’

Anne’s head whipped up, eyes alighting at the sight of him.

He liked her. A lot.

‘Gilbert, you cannot _fathom_ how deliriously excited I am for the Summer Soiree. It will be positively magical, I can assure you that!’, she exclaimed, beckoning him to come closer to the pair. When he caught up, they began their short walk to school.

‘Anne, do you still need help with the garlands?’, Diana asked.  
‘Uh – no. They’re all finished. You’ll love them,’ Anne responded, smiling fondly at her friend.  
‘I invited Ruby, and she said she’s going to wear a new dress.’    
‘Something new? I thought she just bought a new one?’  
‘Yeah, I bet her parents maybe sold something so that she has a bigger trousseau.’  
Anne rolled her eyes, ‘I still don’t get the ridiculous notion of a trousseau filled with _dresses_.’  
Diana smirked, ‘You’re starting to sound like Marilla!’  
The redheaded girl gasped, ‘I do not!’

Gilbert silently trailed next to them, enjoy their excited banter. It was oddly refreshing hearing them gossip about light matter. He felt like an adolescent again.

‘What are you smiling about?’, Anne asked, peering up at him. Her lips were lopsided with amusement.

‘Nothing. Just… happy.’

Whereas Diana seemed to think nothing of it and continued babbling about the Soiree, Anne kept her eyes locked on him for a second longer, quickening his heart rate. Her smile grew, understanding what he meant. The longer her blue irises stared into his, the more her gravitational pull felt undeniable. Gilbert held his breath in anxious anticipation as his knuckles grazed hers.  
Anne froze, snatching her hand back and turning towards Diana.

Gilbert continued staring at her hand, wondering what it would be like to hold it. His hand was slightly bigger than hers, but both had callouses. They’d fit.

‘Don’t tell Josie I said this,’ Diana said conspiratorially, ‘but I think it’s going to be better than one of her parties.’

‘It will?,’ Anne bit her lip, turning to him, ‘I’ve never been since she doesn’t like to be acquainted with me. Have you?’

Gilbert shrugged, ‘I have once. We weren’t allowed to touch anything… it was a long time ago though.’

Anne’s lips pursed into a smile, dimples pressing into her cheeks. ‘Is it bad that I love that? That’s not bullying, right?’

Diana diverted the conversation again. ‘Anyway, I had another idea. What if we read some of our stories at the Soiree? Aunt Josephine told me they do it at her parties. I remember Ruby telling me she has this adorable story about –‘, Diana’s mouth clamped shut, eyes flitting to Gilbert and then back to Anne. ‘Someone.’

Gilbert frowned, confused. What was that? But more importantly: they wrote stories? It was expected from Anne, but Diana and Ruby?

‘You write stories?’

Diana bashfully gazed at the ground, letting Anne speak.

‘We have a book club, where we write and review each other’s stories. It’s our quaint, little haven where we get to express our creative souls. It’s _really_ enlightening,’ Anne explained with clasped hands.

‘If you want to…,’ Anne’s eyes trailed to Diana, ‘you can join us sometime.’

‘Anne!’, Diana said alarmed. ‘What about –?’

‘The more the merrier, right?’, Anne directed to her bosom friend, eyes wide. Gilbert’s confusion only grew. Just as he thought he figured girls out, they flung something new to his head.

Diana narrowed her eyes at her friend, a glint of mischief that hadn’t been seen since her rebellious act returned. She smirked, ‘Right.’  
Anne flushed red. Gilbert felt dumb.

‘I think it’s a great idea,’ Gilbert said eventually, breaking the silence, ‘about you guys reading your stories. I’m interested.’ He rightfully left the idea of visiting the club on the side, as the girls clearly had to sort some things out first.

‘Then it’s settled! We’ll read excerpts of our stories,’ Anne clapped her hands.

‘I’m especially excited for the evening activity,’ Diana winked, and the girls giggled, leaning into each other. They stepped onto the playground, dodging playing toddlers.

‘What’s with the secrecy?’, he asked amused, crossing his arms.

‘Oh, nothing,’ Diana smiled, hitching her basket higher in the crook of her elbow.

‘ _Oh, nothing_ ,’ Billy mocked, taunting Diana. He jumped upright from sitting on the steps to the door. The girl crossed her arms, casting her eyes downwards. ‘Gilbert, gossiping with the girls, are you? Want to sit on the other side? Next to Fido and the doormat?’

Before Gilbert could react, and he’d love to with his fists, Anne was him first.

‘How _dare_ you talk to Diana like that? The only doormat is this place is _you_! You’re an opinion-less plant that can’t spell!’, Anne glared at him, bravely stepping closer.

Billy huffed, staring back maliciously, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t speak _dog_.’

‘Come on, Anne, he’s not worth it,’ Diana urged her friend, grabbing her hand. Anne let her be dragged away, still sending daggers to the bully. They disappeared into the building.

Gilbert felt his blood boiling, his head stuffed with cloth that didn’t leave much room for rationality. ‘What the hell is your problem, Billy?’, he hissed though closed teeth.

Billy rose his eyebrows at the cuss word. ‘You don’t scare me, Blythe. I mean, you’re preparing a _party_? Are you going to wear a dress too?’

Gilbert’s fist tingled to hit Billy’s stupid face again. “He deserves it!”, his mind yelled at him. Just one big hit… but why couldn’t he learn from the first time? It aggravated Gilbert. Why didn’t Billy ever learn?  
His shaking fist loosened, stretching his fingers. Billy saw the motion, eyes alight with vile victory.

‘You know, Billy,’ Gilbert squared his jaw, stepping closer, ‘one day, you’ll realise how alone you truly are,’ with that, Gilbert went past him, hitting his shoulder. He heard Billy huff behind him, but he stopped caring.

When Gilbert stepped into the classroom, having put his hat on a hanger, his eyes meet Anne’s, hers inked with concern. He smiled at her reassuringly, sitting in his designated seat next to Fred.

‘Did you sock him?’, Anne whispered at him, just as Billy and miss Stacey entered the building. He shook his head amused. Anne rolled her eyes, turning back to the front. Gilbert stared at her for a second longer. He seemed to do that a lot, he realised. There was just so much of Anne, that he loved taking it all in. The way her freckles dotted her face, or how visibly her eyes reflected her emotions. Gilbert hoped that one day, he’d be able to stare at her freely, and she’d let him.

‘Today, we’re going to do something completely different,’ miss Stacey began, her hair once again haphazardly thrown into a hairstyle. Instinctively, Gilbert leaned forward, head slightly cocked.

The teacher held her hands up, ‘Chemistry! It’s innovative and every day, they’re discovering new facets of it. We’re going to talk about the history of it now, and maybe, because it’s so new, you’ll discover something yourself as well.’ She walked to the blackboard, writing today’s topic on top.

‘Back in the Middle Ages, people called it alchemy, but in modern times now, it’s chemistry. An important name that you’ll see in your readers is John Dalton. He founded the Atomic Theory. Atoms,’ she drew a thick dot on the board, ‘make up everything. They cannot be created or destroyed. Around an atom are rings –’

‘Like a wedding ring?’, Ruby piped up, making the row of girls laugh.

Stacey smiled, ‘You can think of it like that. But on those rings are electrons. Niels Bohr and Ernest Rutherford discovered that. Those electrons can help combine atoms. Atoms make elements, and when you have billions and billions of them together, they create everything we have around us. Now to remember all these elements, a famous man that’s still alive _right now_ made a periodic table of elements to arrange them all, _and_ what’s so exciting, is that we can also predict elements we don’t even know yet! Does anyone know who this man is?’

‘Dmitri Mendeleev,’ two voices spoke simultaneously. Gilbert recognised that voice everywhere. In one sweeping glance, he found Anne already looking at him. Smiling.

He remembered once asking his dad, probably almost a decade ago, what it felt like when he met Gilbert’s mother. Apparently, she was from France and was studying in Spain, where his father was visiting. “The second I saw her,” John had said, “my heart,” he snapped his fingers, “was just gone. Just like that. She was hanging on another man, but I knew I had to talk to her. My whole adventurous journey would feel pointless if I didn’t talk to her. I was positive she’d taken my heart, Gilbert. When you’re older, find someone who can take your heart as well, in a snap.”

Gilbert understood his father now. His heart that always beat erratically whenever she stared at him, went so fast he didn’t even feel it anymore. She’d taken it. He gulped.

‘Seems like you two know a lot about chemistry,’ Gilbert’s head whipped back to the front, surprised at the voice of the smiling miss Stacey. ‘Moving on –‘,

Her voice faded away as his gaze lingered back on Anne. Her eyes were still on him, her smile rather soft than amused. Anne was stunning.

Gilbert found another pair of eyes focusing on him. Diana, sitting right next to Anne. She stared at him with scrutiny, calculating. He froze, feeling caught. Quickly averting his eyes, he listened to Stacey again. He can deal with Diana later.      

 

‘I know you like Anne.’

The statement resolutely left the lips of Diana Barry, both standing outside the building waiting for Anne at the end of the school day. The girl stared at him, chin raised with expectation. Gilbert stared back at her blankly, trying to find a reply that didn’t give him away. Diana was Anne’s best friend, practically her soulmate, she’d tell Anne immediately if he confessed. No, he wanted to do that himself.

‘I think it’s great, if you’re wondering,’ Diana continued when he didn’t say anything, ‘But if you’re trying to be subtle, you’re not doing a good job. You’re already courting her by walking home with her.’

Gilbert frowned, ‘I’m not _courting_ her.’

Diana sniffed amused, ‘Flirting then.’

Gilbert straightened his back, ‘Anne’s just a friend. I don’t like her like that.’

That only seemed to amuse Diana even more, her smile growing. Gilbert knew he was a lost cause. Even if he didn’t outwardly confess, she knew. It was too evident. But if she knew, Anne would realise soon enough as well. A smile involuntarily made it on his lips as well. The door opened.

‘So, my mother,’ Diana suddenly quipped, her eyes flitting behind Gilbert, ‘made peach jam from peaches imported from Asia! It’s going to be the best you’ve ever tasted. Oh, hi Anne!’

Gilbert turned to his left, seeing an apologetic Anne. ‘Sorry, I had some questions for miss Stacey about the chemistry lesson. There are every so many things to talk about. Maybe that’ll be my vocation. A chemist!’

Diana wrinkled her nose, ‘Are you sure?’

Anne shrugged, ‘Am I ever? Anyway,’ she started walking, ‘what were you guys talking about?’

‘About the Soiree,’ Diana smirked at Gilbert, him hoping he didn’t look foolish. Was it really that obvious? Was it seen in his eyes?     

‘Ah, I can’t wait!,’ Anne squealed. Suddenly, her stance changed. ‘Where’s Moody?’

‘It’s Ella’s birthday so he had to leave immediately,’ Gilbert said. During lunch Moody had been complaining about it. He was going to sit there, surrounded by little kids and his strict parents. He wasn’t allowed to work for school or do chores – he _had_ to attend.      

‘When is your birthday, Gilbert? I already know Anne’s,’ Diana asked.  
He was glad Anne stood in between them, because he was able to cast a glance at her where she already seemed to be thinking of an excuse.

‘Ah, we never celebrated birthdays. I don’t know mine. I just know I’m born in 1885.’

Diana frowned, ‘Have you never looked through your files?’

‘It – it doesn’t matter.’

Diana seemed to take the hint and let the subject slide. Their intersection came into view. The feeling of someone’s hand made him look down, but Anne kept her head forward. Her hand was rubbing against his though, this time leaving it there. He kept his eyes on the way in front of him, smiling to himself.

If his affections were that obvious Diana Barry confronted him with it, he’d better hurry up.

With one bold move, he locked their knuckles together. She let him.

*

Gilbert Blythe stared at himself in the mirror, something he’d been doing for a while. Not because of narcissistic tendencies but because every day, he felt something change. Like how the dark circles under his eyes were starting to fade. Or how suddenly, faint hairs were seen around his mouth and jaw. He was changing, and he kind of liked it.

Quickly smoothing his hair away from his face, he jogged down the stairs. It was ridiculously hot that Sunday afternoon, and staying up upstairs was asking to be murdered. Even with his light henley and trousers, Gilbert still felt suffocated. Before running out of the house, he snatched the loaf of bread, covered in cloth, from the kitchen table and went outside. Gilbert didn’t want to arrive empty-handed. Anne bended her back to make the party happen in such short notice, without spoiling once it was actually his birthday to their fellow peers, not even Diana! (At least, he supposed she didn’t tell Diana. If she did, the Barry girl was a very talented actress.)

Gilbert was nervous. In his gut he felt that, for some reason, something would change today. What that was he didn’t know, but it would. For the better. The predicament buzzed in his bones and left him smiling as he walked through the familiar forest. Above all, he was curious. Did Marilla and Rachel overdo themselves and baked for the entire town of Avonlea? Would Anne go overtop with extravagance due to excitement? 

(Probably.)

(Not that he minded the latter, though.)

Lush, vibrant, flower garlands caught his eye when he stepped foot on the property of Green Gables. They were hung around the ledge of the house, the gates, slung in trees and hammered onto the large picnic table that stood in front of the house. Even from metres away, he could smell the delicious treats that were stacked onto the table. Sunlight beamed in streaks upon the ground, alighting everything in a soft hue. Pollen swarmed around him.

Anne, Diana, Ruby and Jane darted out of the kitchen door, laughing about something Jane said as the girl bashfully ducked her head. Anne was the first to lock eyes with him, and smiled.

Gilbert froze, breath caught in his throat and heart thrumming against his chest as his eyes roved over her face and body as she approached him, unaware.

He didn’t think she’d become more beautiful, but right now, she looked celestial.

An intricate flower reef adorned her hair, which hung loose in curls around her shoulders. Her apron was gone, and she was wearing a light, teal dress. No frivolities to distract him from her glowing eyes and kind smile.

‘Hi Gilbert!’

‘Uh – hey!‘, he had to keep it together, Gilbert scolded himself.

Anne’s smile broadened, teeth and all. She signalled with her hand behind her, showcasing the party. ‘Do you like what you see?’

Gilbert wanted to kiss her. He really did.

‘Yeah, it’s… you really outdid yourself, Anne.’

The girl averted her eyes from his gaze, ‘Well, I didn’t do it _all_ alone, but thank you,’ she looked at the girls for a second, ‘Oh, and don’t worry. Moody will come too and I think Charlie as well.’

Gilbert would rather be alone with Anne, caressing her soft curls and kissing her lips.

‘Great… race to the table?’

Anne’s eyes narrowed, glint in her eye. He smirked.

‘We all know who the fastest person here is,’ Anne taunted.

‘Me.’

‘No, me!’

‘Please, Anne.’

‘Watch me, Blythe.’

Without a word, he placed one foot forward and one backwards, bending slightly through his knees. Anne mimicked his position standing next to him.

‘Three,’ Anne counted, ‘two, one, go!’

Gilbert didn’t think Anne had kept in mind that he was a head taller, which made his legs also longer. He arrived a few seconds earlier, much to the disgruntlement of Anne.

‘Don’t be sad, Anne,’ he teased, circling his arm around her shoulder. She slapped it away. ‘You’ll beat me in other things.’

‘Fair and square.’

His smile softened. ‘Yeah.’

‘Sorry I’m late,’ Moody heaved, leaning forward on his knees. His cheeks were flushed from the heat.

‘Not at all!’, Anne switched back into her mode as hostess, greeting Moody. Gilbert’s gaze turned back to the girls, immediately catching Diana’s as her lips were quirked up with amusement and curiosity. The other girls, although having seen the encounter, couldn’t seem to care.   

Ten minutes later, a few other classmates like Charlie and Fred have arrived and the Soiree was complete. Everyone sat around the table, girls and boys mixed together for once. As per usual, next to Anne sat Diana and Gilbert. Luckily, as to not stare at Anne like a total fool, Moody was seated next to Gilbert and distracted him with conversation.

After an hour or so of stuffing their mouths with the treats and loud talk and gossip, Anne stood upright, curls bouncing with her. Diana must’ve done her hair, Gilbert now realised.

‘A few days ago,’ Anne began as she caught everyone’s attention, ‘my kindred spirit Diana had a marvellous idea. Her, Ruby and I love writing stories and we decided to do a little reading. The inspiration of our poems is, of course, summer. Ruby, would you like to start?’

Nervously, Ruby stood up, straightened her supposedly new pink skirt as Anne sat back down, hands clasped with interest. Out of her dress pocket, Ruby picked a leaflet of paper. She scraped her throat once.

 _“Between the dusk of a summer night_  
_And the dawn of a summer day,_  
_We caught at a mood as it passed in flight._  
_And what with the dawn of night began_  
_With the dusk of day was done;_  
_For that is the way of woman and man,_  
_When a hazard has made them one._  
_O, it's die we must, but it's live we can,_  
_And the marvel of earth and sun_  
_Is all for the joy of woman and man_  
_And the longing that makes them one.”_

The group clapped, Anne even making a show of whistling. Gilbert was mildly impressed. He didn’t realise Ruby was capable of producing something like that.  
Next was Diana, who seemed more poised than Ruby.

 _“A drop fell on the apple tree,_  
_Another on the roof;_  
_A half a dozen kissed the eaves,_  
_And made the gables laugh.”_  

The group clapped for the second time, and finally, it was Anne’s turn. Her smile was wobbly.

‘My poem is a lot shorter than the others, and more personal, but…’, she didn’t finish her sentence, unfolding the paper.

 _“In the summer_  
_I stretch out on the shore_  
_And think of you_  
_Had I told the sea_  
_What I felt for you,_  
_It would have left its shores,_  
_Its shells,_  
_Its fish,_  
_And followed me.”_

She had recited her story without much extravagance, but more as a tired, deep narrator. It felt important, Gilbert found. Secretly, he couldn’t help but think – and hope – that the poem was about him.  
Bashfully, Anne folded the paper and made a funny bow as the others clapped. A grin stretched across her face.

‘That was fun!’, Diana whispered in her ear.

Anne nodded and turned to Gilbert. He was waiting for her to say something, but as nothing came out (her eyes were wide and lips parted, as if she was expecting _him_ to say something, but she already knew he liked the poem, so what was she waiting for?), Gilbert leaned it.

‘Everything okay?’

Anne seemed to snap out of whatever it was, and shook her head smiling, ‘Yes. My thoughts were wandering for a moment.’

‘Gilbert!’, Moody exclaimed. Gilbert turned his head to the right. ‘Look what I have,’ the boy hushed excitedly, showcasing a bottle from his satchel. Gilbert’s eyes glimmered. The currant wine.

Laughing, the teenagers stumbled down the road, drunk off the sun, food and a little bit of wine. Diana was leaning into Anne, giggling, whilst they were leading the way. Just five minutes ago, as the sun was finally lowering itself and casting golden puddles onto the ground, they announced their next activity. It was a secret, “but _very_ invigorating and scrumptious!”, Anne had declared with rosy cheeks. The two girls were holding a basket, one seemingly heavier than the other, but they both refused giving one to him when he asked.

Moving to the familiar intersection in the woods, they switch onto Diana’s road, much to Gil’s surprise. If the parents of Diana saw them in this state…

Gilbert didn’t feel the currant wine, unlike the others. After all those months travelling, he’d become acquainted with the taste of alcohol, whether he liked it or not. It was simply part of the experience. He was happy he didn’t feel the buzz and was completely sober. With Anne around, he’d rather be fully in the moment and focused, wanting to remember everything.

Taking another turn, they diverted from the Barry home and headed to the lake. Then he saw it: seven boats lined up next to each other at the shore, old but still safe and usable. All seven had flower garlands attached to them. Gilbert smiled, loving the idea. For some reason, he didn’t feel an aversion to it, but rather a way to end a chapter from his life. Working on a ship, lonely and cold, to sitting in a boat with his friends whilst warm sunlight was hitting his bronzed face. In that moment, he knew he _had_ to sit with Anne.

‘Okay everyone!’, Anne exclaimed, ‘this is it! The Lake of Shining Waters has granted us access to her beautiful surface for us to enjoy the last hours of light of the day. There are some snacks, drinks and books in the baskets if you want to have some before heading out. Pick a partner!’

As if Diana has read his mind, the girl immediately detached herself from Anne and grabbed Ruby’s hand. The ginger looked at her friend in shock, before her eyes fell on Gilbert.

He grinned, ‘Would you like to be my partner, Anne?’, his heart thundered at the insinuation. The formality of his words made him unable to avert his eyes from her blue ones.

‘Why not?’, Anne shrugged, smiling, ‘seeing as my beloved Diana seems to have plans of her own…’

‘I think I know why,’ he mused.

‘You do?’, she placed one basket in their boat, now lighter as people had taken some sandwiches and drinks out. The books remained untouched.

‘You’ll find out soon enough.’

Anne’s lips quirked up with curiosity, jumping into the boat and perking herself on a seat. Gilbert gave it one strong push, before darting into the boat himself. He’d rather not make his good trousers dirty. She squealed.

‘Ah! I’ve never been on a roman-,’ she stopped herself, but he caught the word, grinning to himself. Romantic. ‘On a boat ride before,’ Anne corrected herself, not meeting his gaze. Gilbert laughed.      

For a moment it was silent, the only sound being the faraway buzz of talks and the rhythmic plunge every time Gilbert’s paddles hit the water. He looked around him, taking in the nature and for a moment, he felt happy. There was no gurgling anger simmering in his veins, nor a creeping sadness edging his mind. It was all forgotten for one blissful moment. Gilbert closed his eyes, smiling contently.

‘I like your smile.’

Gilbert peered open one eye, surprised by her confession.

‘Really?’

Anne didn’t reply, but leaned forward and opened the wicker basket. After a few seconds of rummaging, she picked a small book. Just then, her hair and eyes caught the fading light and he almost blurted out his affections for her.

Not yet, Gilbert reminded himself, now’s not the right time. One hand felt his trousers pocket, feeling the thick, folded paper.

‘Anne? I have something for you.’

‘An apple?’, she teased, eyes narrowing.

‘Very funny,’ he rolled his eyes, grabbing the packet of papers from his pocket, handing it to her. ‘Don’t open it yet.’

She stared at him with curiosity, ‘Well, now I’m dying to quench my thirst for knowledge! What does it say?!’

‘It’s… notes from my travels,’ Gilbert fibbed, clenching his hands around the paddles as to not fiddle with anything. ‘I thought you’d like it. But read it after the party.’

Anne cocked her head, appreciative. ‘Thank you, Gilbert. I love it.’

He hoped she’d still love it when she realised they were not notes, but letters.

‘Well,’ she exclaimed, slapping her hands on the book to lighten the sudden intense mood, ‘Would you mind if I recited a bit of literature? Seeing as I can’t read the notes yet?’

‘Yeah,’ he smiled, leaning back, ‘sure.’ It was his favourite time in class whenever Anne was able to read. It was like a free pass to the theatre, right in front of his nose.  

She opened the book to the first page, gathering herself before speaking the first words:

_‘Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road, healthy, free, the world before me, the long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.’_

Gilbert stopped paddling, staring at her in shock. From all the books in the universe, she chose one from Walt Whitman, his father’s favourite author. She didn’t seem to realise his surprise and fondness that seemed to radiate off of him.

He really, really liked Anne. So much he was almost scared of it.

_‘Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune, henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing, done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms. Strong and content I travel the open road.’_

In less than a year, when she was sixteen and he was nearing seventeen, he would officially court her. He knew he would. Until then, he would do anything in his power to keep her close. He loved her.

_‘The earth, that is sufficient, I do not want the constellations any nearer, I know they are very well where they are, I know they suffice for those who belong to them.’_

He rose his eyebrows in surprise, cheeks colouring red and heart plummeting to his stomach due to the revelation. He loved Anne. Gilbert _loved_ Anne.  

 _‘Still here I carry my old delicious burdens, I carry them, men and women, I carry them with me wherever I go, I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them, I am fill’d with them, and I will fill them in return,’_ Anne looked up, continuing to recite from memorisation. Her tone got lighter and more playful as she was not restricted anymore by the written word. She locked eyes with him.

Gilbert was going to kiss her soon. He already knew that. Not on the cheek, or the nose or the forehead, but the lips. Those rosy lips that were narrating the beautiful story, were going to be his. He couldn’t wait to hug her, hold her, kiss her, be the person who could say that Anne was his girlfriend, and he was her boyfriend.  
He’d never be perfect in it. How could he, when a crippling darkness constantly reminded of who he has been, was and would be. But she’d be there, like she has shown before. Anne cared, and he was certain it wasn’t just platonic. Not with the way she looked at him from time to time. It wasn’t like with Diana, where she just viewed him as a friend. There was something else; He felt it.

_‘O public road, I say back I am not afraid to leave you, yet I love you, you express me better than I can express myself, you shall be more to me than my poem. I think heroic deeds were all conceiv’d in the open air, and all free poems also, I think I could stop here myself and do miracles, I think whatever I shall meet on the road I shall like, and whoever beholds me shall like me,  
I think whoever I see must be happy.’_

She saw correctly.

Gilbert Blythe was happy.

 

**E N D**

 

* * *

 

**E P I G R A P H**

 

It is the calm water

In the middle of an anxious sea

Where heavy clouds part and the sunrise starts

A fire in the deepest part of me

So I let go and in this moment I can breathe

 

 

The countless stars we're sleeping under

It's the brightest sparks that we remember

When our eyes are closed, we still see embers

A glimpse of light in a mine of gold

It's a glimpse of light in mine of gold

_\- Joy, Sleeping At Last_

 

* * *

 

Ruby's poem by William Ernest Henley, edited for story ; Diana's poem by Emily Dickinson ; Anne's poem by Nizar Qabbani

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this novella on Gilbert's rollercoaster of emotions and changes. I love how I my version of Gilbert is completely different of the one we've received in s2 and I hope you all can appreciate it as well. (I was afraid people wouldn't like my story anymore, now that s2 is out...)  
> Thank you to those who stuck around, leaving long reviews or simply telling me I've ripped your heart out (thank you, btw, they all look great in my collection).  
> My mind instantly goes to @theystayalive (my sister-from-a-different-mister, my soulmate, tHe qUeEn HERSELF) for simply reading and supporting me.
> 
>  
> 
> NOW  
> I have some ideas that just need to be explored and outlined so this is NOT THE LAST OF ME, I can assure you of that. Will those ideas come to fruition soon? Let's hope so. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this story, it really means a lot. 
> 
> Peace!


	7. Teaser

She almost forgot about the notes stuffed away in her dress pocket. _Almost_. 

 

* * *

 

 

Final conclusion coming very soon in Anne's perspective. Get ready. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk to me on my Tumblr @lydias--stiles about everything shirbert, stydia and covinsky!


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne reads the letters.

**E P I L O G U E**

 

 

She almost forgot about the notes stuffed away in her dress pocket. _Almost_. There was the romantical boat ride, the delightful literature she, admittedly, remembered by heart and the giggly atmosphere of her dearest friends. The loose leaves of paper crumpled from sitting simply seemed too insignificant when she hugged Diana and Ruby goodbye. Or when Gilbert stared at her. Yes, that was quite…

Wait, did she just call the boat ride _romantical_? The ginger made a face. Her brain was _not_ going there. Of course her own brilliant mind would betray her with those foolish thoughts. Frivolous, truly.

But when she got home and breathlessly told Marilla the exciting tales they’ve got themselves in, the memory of the notes came to the forefront. She nearly gasped right there at the dining table, but kept her composure. Marilla – especially her – didn’t need to know about it. She knew it wasn’t romantical, but the intimacy of Gilbert gifting her his deepest thoughts and observations made her heart swell and, admittedly, she simply didn’t want to share.  
God will forgive her, anyway.

After recapitulating her evening, she bid Marilla goodnight and went to her bedroom, quick steps bouncing on the wooden stairs. Not even completely in her room, she ripped off her boots, shrugging of the twine that kept her braids together and flopped onto her bed. Buried deep in her pocket, Anne resurfaced the notes. Her heart thudded, feeling like the protagonist in all her stories of the empowered woman taking the world by storm. But whereas those women were beautiful and smart seductresses, she was just, well, herself. For some reason, the thought of herself being the lead in a story felt comforting.

The paper was thick and nervy, like the paper of which he’d shown his incredible drawings. Anne smiled at the memory: Gilbert and her, up in a tree, shoulder to shoulder. Her senses filled with his boyish, kind of sweaty scent, the ends of his curls brushing her body.  
A blush crept on her cheeks at the thought, swatting it away with an imaginary bat. Focus, Anne!  
The notes were wounded together with a small piece of twine, much like the ones Anne used for her braids. She licked her lips in anticipation, hesitating.  
Gilbert went through a lot, things that Anne couldn’t even imagine. Gut-wrenching and bittersweet and upsetting. The difference between him and Anne was that she never had anything to lose, whilst he had everything. His family, potential, growing intelligence and looks. With one stuttering breath of John it was all gone. Anne’s eyes began tearing up just thinking about how Gil opened up to her.

Gilbert was sad. And there was nothing she could do to steal it. Break it. Talk its ear off until it went away.

But maybe, reading the notes, could help her understand better. She was aware of his anger and loneliness, but maybe there were some deep-rooted thoughts that she still had to dig through. Anne wanted to be his friend. _And something more_. And!, Anne corrected herself, and go through the treacherous waters of young adulthood with him together. As a friend. A good friend.

Temptation too high, she undid the twine from the notes, letting it fall on her unmade bed. She lit two candles on her bedside table and opened, with trembling fingers, the pages.

Her heart dropped.

Involuntarily, a low shriek left her lips as she dropped them on her bed. Anne jumped, eyes wide.

No, it couldn’t be. She must be tired. He wouldn’t…

Slowly, she steadied her knees on her bed again, gingerly taking the papers. It was a trick of the mind, she convinced herself.

_Dear Anne,_

_You’d love Ireland. Galway has quite the romantic scenery, straight out of the books you love to read._

_I don’t know how much longer I’ll be gone. A month, a decade, forever. My liking for you however, has not yet dissipated._

_I miss you. A lot._

_Gilbert_

‘Oh my God,’ Anne whispered, wide with disbelief. Gilbert _liked_ her? No, that was…  – Anne shook her head aggressively – ridiculous! What was happening? Didn’t he tell her these were notes from his travels? Or – breath hissed through her teeth – was this just a cruel joke? But why would Gilbert take the time to write them in the first place? Out of boredom when he had free time? It didn’t make sense. The pads of her fingers wrinkled the paper as she clenched them.

‘This is absolutely preposterous. I will read no further,’ Anne raised her arms, stance determined. With resolute steps, she placed the notes (or letters? She was still confused.) on her desk. Anne changed into her sleepwear and blew out the candles, finally going to sleep after a long day. She’d give Gilbert a piece of her mind when Monday came around! Anne closed her eyes.

 

 

And opened them again. The girl wasn’t sure how much time has passed, but it was late, or very early morning. Nevertheless, she has never been awake when it was pitch black and deadly silent. Not even a lone cockroach was singing from outside her window. Her eyes were pointed towards her desk, something she couldn’t exactly see. The white of the paper however, glimmered every so often in the moonlight when clouds didn’t overshadow the planet.

Anne groaned, burying her face into her pillow. She was not _giving_ in. Gilbert was just messing with her. Even with a tragic story on his back, he was still the cheeky boy she met nearly three years ago. That annoying charm (could she even call it that?) never went away completely. Unfortunately.  
Nope. She was _not_ reading them. She was not reading them. Absolutely not.  
One eye peeked open from under her pillow, staring straight at the glimmering white.

No.

At least, that was what her mind said. Her body, however, suddenly stood upright on the cold, wooden floors, making her skin ripple and shiver.

Shirley, what are you doing?, she yelled at herself internally. Do not give Gilbert the pleasure of messing with your mind! But her body was moving again, fingers patting the surface of her nightstand to find the matches and candles. Suddenly, they were on, alighting her room in a yellow glow. Anne prayed Marilla wouldn’t have to go to the bathroom.

Making sure to not make a noise, she sat down at her desk, staring at the papers. The loose waves of her ginger hair enveloped her frail body. Anne bit her lip.

‘Just see it as light literature,’ Anne whispered to herself. ‘It’s fictional. Not about Gilbert or me or us – whatever that may be.’

_Dear Anne,_

_You wouldn’t believe how wide the world is. How far an ocean can stretch, or how many different people can sit on one ship._

_I’m going to Europe. I bet you would’ve liked to come along. I’ve read somewhere that there are a lot of redheaded people in Scotland. Who knows, maybe your ancestry is richer than you thought._

_Gilbert_

A nostalgic smile stretched across her lips. He must’ve written this right after he left. Anne remembered, unfortunately, the loss and anguish she felt seeing his empty chair in school.

_Dear Anne,_

_Europeans are a lot different than I thought. I can’t explain it. They’re posh and brutal at the same time. There’s a lesser sense of community and more of monopoly. Who can be the best and most rich. I don’t know. It’s weird. I miss Avonlea a little. Most of all you though, you for sure._

_Gilbert_

_Dear Anne,_

_I met someone, a man named Sebastian. He’s older, like someone who’d have kids in their twenties. He’s kind of grumpy and sad, but at least he’s genuine and mostly kind to me. We get along. I’m kind of his apprentice, learning the ropes from someone who’d done this job for more years than he can probably count. It scares me a little. What if I remain stuck here? I want to see Paris, Germany, Italy, even India! The spice industry is insane, things we’ve never seen or heard of before. Once you begin travelling, you realise how small P.E.I. is, and not just by width and length. I haven’t spoken to anyone besides Sebastian though._

_I still miss you. I’ve forgotten the exact shade of your hair and it’s only been a month. I hope the missing you will subside._

_Gilbert_

_Dear Anne,_

_My heart beats harder when I think of you. You’re quite extraordinary, did you know that?_

_Gilbert_

Anne’s mind was racing, boggled by the words. Whilst reading, she was continuously shaking her head, not believing the stories that flabbergasted her. He used her as a way to cope with all the vast changes in his life. And he was – she dared to think the word – _infatuated_ by her. _Her_. 

Fiction, she reminded herself. But deep down she knew she was lying to herself. Gilbert was anything but a liar. This was real.

_Dear Anne,_

_I thought I saw you today. A girl, of your height and body type, was walking down the street. She had red braids. But when I touched her shoulder, she looked nothing like you. Strong nose, small, brown eyes and zero freckles on the face. An Irish girl, probably named Eileen. I don’t know.  
It messed with my head. Just as I was forgetting about my old life, just as I was making plans to go to the mainland of Europe, starting in the Netherlands, just as homesickness started to fade, I see her. This illusion of you. I’ll never truly escape Avonlea, it seems. I don’t want to go back, but I’m dying to see you. I _ need _to see you. But it’s quite risky going back for a girl, isn’t it? You probably forget about me already._

_How’s school? (Another thing I miss a lot) You better be on top! If not, I’ll beat you from all the way across the ocean! I can do that, trust me. I have skills._

_Gilbert_

Anne felt flustered, a feeling she didn’t often experience related to romance. Did he came back for her? He joked about the idea in his letter, but he did come back. She glanced at the date. It was around a month before he arrived back in Avonlea.

‘Oh my God,’ she exhaled, breathless. This was like correspondence between star-crossed lovers, like a soldier at war writing love letters to his wife who was anxiously waiting at home. Or an immortal angel to a mortal human, a relationship destined to fail but oh so tempting. Her mind derailed from the letters, and made a note to write a short story on that.

But wait, Gilbert and Anne weren’t star-crossed lovers, were they? They were good friends, but _lovers_? We’ve held hands, Anne remembered with a blush (She still couldn’t believe she once initiated it.), but that didn’t qualify them as lovers. Diana and her held hands before, but it wasn’t like they were going to marry each other.

(She wouldn’t mind marrying Gilbert. She wouldn’t mind marrying Gilbert. She wouldn’t mind marrying Gilbert.)

_Dear Anne,_

_I’m coming home._

 

_Dear Anne,_

_I just met James. He’s twenty and an entrepreneur. According to him, he’ll make millions in Toronto. He’s a little cocky and self-absorbed, but we both need the company, it seems. Loneliness doesn’t exclude the rich. It traps anyone who’s willing to get lured by it.  
We mostly read together in silence, or play card games. It’s nice. _

_Gilbert_

_Dear Anne,_

_I miss my dad. So badly. I need him. I really, really need him right now. I wish I could write to him, but it’s pointless to write to the dead. At least with you there’s a possibility you’d write back. Not that I’d ever send these._

_Hell, my dad’s dead. How insane is that._

_Why am I writing this? This_

He never finished the letter, the ink drying on the “s”. Anne frowned at the dark thoughts played on the page, realising this was probably when the ship accident happened. On one of the many Sundays he has worked at Green Gables, he’d shown her the scar on his stomach, still red and fresh. It was terrible and heroic, but also sad. Why did bad things happen to those who didn’t deserve it?

The next paper wasn’t a letter, but a sketch of her. Anne smiled fondly, remembering the moment. During his break on a Sunday, she’d resurfaced her drawing supplies and dumped them in the barn. For the next half hour, they’d been drawing each other. Anne had been unable to keep a straight face when he was scrutinising her, and that was displayed in the drawing. Her eyes were crinkled, her teeth on display in a laughing grin. The lines were rough and quick, but it still looked realistic. That was her. A little heart was drawn in the corner. Anne’s heart stuttered.

She didn’t realise Gilbert had such a romantic soul.

Anne knew she had strong feelings for Gilbert. Positive ones as well. She simply always kept them buried for the sake of Ruby or her sanity. But these letters shot them back, front and centre, making her hot and flustered and dizzy and excited and oh my God, Gilbert Blythe _liked_ her? Which meant that, if he gave her the letters now, he must still like her. All the moments between them that have filled the past three months, was with him liking her. Every glance and touch, every shared meal and stroll, every teasing jab or tingling close proximity, when they share a breath – Gilbert liked her.

And Anne liked him.

The girl smiled, unable to stop the nervous giggle leaving her buzzing body. Her fingers combed through the strands if hair, not sitting still.

This was… she couldn’t find the words. This changed everything. The feeling was mutual, so Gilbert could start courting her. She could grab his hand without an explanation, hug him, kiss him – she stopped herself, fingers freezing. Anne could kiss Gilbert? He could kiss her? Was she even ready for that?  
She has fantasised about kissing him, Anne argued with herself, like under the apple trees in his orchard, secretly behind school, in her bed…

Anne shook her head, eyes falling on the last leaflet. Her heart lurched, eager to read the last one.

_Dear Anne,_

_I just saw you, yet you didn’t see me. I was in the woods, when I heard you scream. You were running with Diana, carefree and joyous. Your hair was loose and it was darker than I remembered. You’re also taller, and there are a billion more freckles covering your body. I have never seen anyone as beautiful as you. I don’t think I ever will. You’re a dandelion among the daisies, special and something everyone wishes to find._

_I was too cowardice to come to you, or maybe I was simply ~~enamoured~~ entranced by you. _

_I didn’t expect this to be a love letter, but here we are._

_Love,_

_Gilbert_

The girl smiled at the poetic love letter designed for her. How cheesy, she thought fondly. Anne knew she didn’t love Gilbert, but she did know it was close to it. It should terrify her, but for some reason she was okay with it. The scope for her imagination stretched wide, but never in a million year did she expect to imagine herself falling unconditionally for Gilbert, without a care.

She huffed, staring at the scattered pages. How long has she been sitting here? Her gaze flitted towards the window. Behind the horizon, smudged colours of red and blue started to arise, awaking the sleepy town and commanding for a new day to begin. Anne knew she wasn’t going to sleep another wink. She’d just have to wait until it was appropriate to start her day and get to Gilbert as fast as possible. She’d rather catch him before school, when he was still home. confronting him with Diana in the background wasn’t exactly ideal.

Come on my dearest sun, Anne pleaded, please show us your beautiful rays a little faster.

 

 

It was still early when Anne ran out of the door. Marilla didn’t know what was going on, but it felt like she may have an inkling. Or maybe Anne was just paranoid. She didn’t care, her mind only focused on a certain darkhaired boy with alluring hazel eyes. Anne passed Jerry as she unlocked the gate. He looked surprised.

‘You’re already out?’, Jerry blurted, voice scratchy from the morning. Anne usually waited till the last second before heading out.

Anne grinned, awkwardly throwing her hands up, ‘Today will be marvellous, Jerry!’ she didn’t why she said that, God why did she say that? She didn’t think, she couldn’t think, her mind constantly coming back to a certain darkhaired boy with alluring hazel eyes.

Jerry gave her an odd look, something she has become quite used to from him. He muttered something in French, but she already ran off too far.

The path to the Blythe household was very familiar to the redheaded girl. She knew every passing tree and flower, from all the times she went to his home to pick apples when he gone. Anne didn’t feel quite guilty about it, and he never said anything about it, so she assumed he didn’t hold a grudge for that. Maybe they could talk about that after she spilled her affections to him.

This wouldn’t go horribly wrong, right?

His house came into view, slowing down her pace. Anne’s heart thudded heavily against her lungs, high in her throat leaving her breathless. She has never felt so nervous meeting Gilbert.

Calm down, Anne scolded herself, it’s just Gilbert. The thought calmed her down. It was just Gilbert, who loved school and drawing and tried to stay as kind as possible. Who rowed their boat whilst she was reading. It was just Gilbert.

She knocked on the door.

Gilbert opened the door twenty seconds later, his grey henley still untucked from his trousers, shoeless and his mess of curls pointing in all directions. The boy’s eyes widened as she stood there.

‘Anne? What are you – it’s very early.’

‘Gilbert Blythe, I can’t believe you said they were travel notes whilst they were… letters. Not even that, love letters! Not even in a million years would I think you had an ounce of romance in your body,’ she blurted out in one breath of air. Gilbert looked nervous, cheeks tainted a light pink.

‘But… I,’

Tell him. Just tell him.

Anne smiled at Gilbert.

‘I like you, Gilbert. The way you like me.’

A breathless smile formed on Gilbert’s face, splitting his face with joy that reached his sparkling eyes. Anne was stunned, she had never seen him _this_ happy. Most of all, she felt relief and excitement buzz through her entire body.

‘You do?’, his voice squeaked, edging closer to her. She held her breath as he placed his hands on her neck, thumbs brushing her throat.

‘Y-yeah,’ Anne bit her lip. Was he also as lightheaded as she was? It felt like a thousand flowers were falling from the sky in her head, screaming with joy.

‘Well then,’ Gilbert smirked, cheeks still red, ‘may I court you, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert?’ He stepped even closer, nose inches away from hers. She tilted her chin upwards.

‘You may,’ she whispered.

With that, Gilbert closed the space between them and kissed his girlfriend.

 

 

Yes, it won’t take Anne long to cross the line between like and love.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't think I would write this, but so many were curious as to how Anne would react to the letters, and I didn't want to disappoint, haha. It was really weird writing in Anne's perspective again, after doing months of only Gilbert, but I hope I did her justice. It may be a little OOC, but we've never seen her truly react to her feelings for Gilbert, so I'm kind of doing my own thing with this. I based it off the way I have felt fom being infatuated with someone. 
> 
> This was truly the last chapter now of this story. This could go on forever but I'd like to venture into different stories and not stay in the same headspace. 
> 
> Again, thank you so much for reading and going on the intense journey of writing this. I hope you liked interacting with me, it was the least I could do for all the support :)
> 
> Peace out
> 
> Ophelia

**Author's Note:**

> You can scream at me on my Tumblr: http://lydias--stiles.tumblr.com/  
> (yes, I changed my url)


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